Indulge
by JoVaughn
Summary: The 1st Annual "Bobdoc" festival is to be held in District 2, where Katniss Everdeen's appearance is requested.  A Gale and Katniss story.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.

Indulge

There are moments in the woods when I have to remind myself that my dad and sister are dead. I sometimes think I feel the sharp pain of hunger, and then I remember the big breakfast I had. I occasionally forget that I need to set up my own snares because Gale hasn't set one in these woods for a year now. I haven't seen him in just as long. _My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am eighteen-years-old. I live in District 12. Gale lives in District 2. Because he killed my sister. _Everything about that seems wrong so I let it slip my mind.

The woods are quiet today. Not nearly as much game as yesterday. Still, I end up leaving with a rabbit, two squirrels, and a scrawny turkey. Gray clouds cover the sky, a clap of thunder roars, and all that's left to hunt is scurrying home before the storm hits. I get back to the Victors Village just as the rain starts. I pass my own house. The lights are off but there's still a miserable glow to it—a cast of shadows that remind me every day where I've been and where I'm going. I find myself at Haymitch's. The familiar stench of vomit, mold, and dust makes me sick, and no, I'm not used to it, but I am suddenly wishing that Hazelle was there to clean. One thought of Hazelle, and I'm thinking of Gale again. What fancy job is he working in District 2? What pretty girl is he kissing? And do I even care? My mother tries to tell me how he's doing everytime we talk—although I never ask about him. She says he visits her once a month, which is more than I can say. I always tell her I don't want to hear about him. And I don't. Or I can't. Because there's just too many things—people, rather—involved when it comes to Gale and me. I wonder if she would still welcome his company if she knew his bomb was the same one that killed Prim. Then, I catch myself feeling guilty for thinking such a thing.

I walk into a dimly lit parlor. My previous thoughts are completely forgotten at the sight of Haymitch. He's face-down on the burgundy carpet, a bottle of white liquor in one hand, and even though his other hand is concealed beneath his stomach, the unseen knife is obvious to me. I shake my head, either in awe or frustration, I don't know yet. I make sure to kick him real hard in the side as I move to the couch. He groans, and I decide frustration.

"What was that for?" he mumbles.

"What wasn't it for?" I say. "Get up."

"You're a real pain in the ass. You know that?" he says. With a grunt, he makes it to his knees, shockingly so.

"Yeah, and you're a useless drunk, did you know that?" I ask him.

"A hungry, useless drunk," he corrects, all while eyeing my hunting sack.

"You really are useless," I say and help him to his feet. "Come on." He follows me into the kitchen where I prepare dinner.

This is a ritual for us now. I hunt. He drinks. I hunt more. He drinks himself into oblivion. I find him, kick him, poor water on him, do whatever it takes to shake him from his nightmares. After his knife thrashing and sometimes vomiting, or both, he's starved. I cook dinner in silence. We eat in silence. He starts to drink again. I sometimes fall asleep on the couch, and he retreats to the carpet once more. I would never admit it, but my life is—to a certain extent—tethered to the drunk man, who was so wasted, he fell on his face the day I took Prim's place at the Reaping. In front an entire nation, no less.

Today, Haymitch makes small talk while I roast the turkey. "So, how's that Peeta doing? Haven't seen him around lately."

"You wouldn't, would you?" I take a stab at his constant drunkenness then say, "He's been really busy at the bakery." You'd think it'd be painful, going back to a hobby that reminds you of your family's death. But for Peeta, baking is like some sort of therapy, and I admire it. I'm maybe even jealous of it. Hunting is considered my therapy, but even in those woods, I can usually manage to find something to have nightmares about.

The turkey finishes roasting. I make our plates. We eat in silence, like usual, and then finish dinner off with a delicious piece of cake Peeta baked himself. In the Parlor, Haymitch polishes off the bottle of white liquor. I cuddle up with myself on the couch. The sun has long set. I wonder if Peeta has closed up shop. Probably not, or he'd be escorting me home, where he'd wait at the door for the invitation to come up and snuggle.

"I guess this is a good time as any to tell you," Haymitch says.

The statement throws me off. "Tell me what?" I ask.

"I'm sure you already know that tomorrow marks the year of Coin's assassination."

It's kind of strange to hear about someone's assassination when you're the assassin. "I guess I knew."

I did know, but I didn't want to. Because it's just another reminder of everything I've lost since then. But, I guess those will always be around. Hell, I'm one big, constant reminder myself.

"There's going to be a celebration of sorts," he continues.

"A celebration of Coin's death?"

"Not necessarily," he says. "It's a celebration of liberation. They are calling it Bobdoc, or the celebration of freedom."

"Sounds like a step up from the Hunger Games," I say.

"It's going to be a week-long festival. President Paylor called me herself, she wants you there."

"At the Capitol?"

"No," Haymitch hesitates. "They are celebrating Bobdoc in District 2."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thank you for the wonderful reviews everybody! I hope you continue to read just as I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

Chapter 2

"No way," I say at once.

"I figured you'd say that." He leaves the room and comes back with a fresh bottle of white liquor. "So I told Paylor you weren't ready yet."

We exchange a look that makes me feel very exposed. Is it just Haymitch who can read me like a book, or am I always this easy to crack? I suddenly hate that he knows why I won't go.

"I will never be ready." I pretend like he can't see right through me. "You can go ahead and tell Paylor to take my name off the guest list from now on."

"It's not merely Paylor who wants you there," says Haymitch. "People don't want to just celebrate the Capitol's fall; they want to celebrate you, the Mockingjay who made it all possible."

"I made a promise to myself that I would never be the Mockingjay again," I say.

"You're the Mockingjay whether you want to be or not."

I, for the first time, don't have a response. Because he's right. I will forever be the Mockingjay, the girl who started a rebellion, the girl who led that rebellion into the Capitol, the girl whose victory speech has yet to be written, and the girl who has killed one too many people. Blood stains the hands of the Mockingjay, of me, and there is no soap in this world that can wash it away.

"I, for one, think that it will be good for you to get out of District 12, even if it's only for a week." I don't speak so Haymitch continues, "You are a very important person, and the people want their Victor with them during this time of merriment. You forget too often what you've done for everybody, Katniss."

"I'm not going!" I scream.

I'm standing now. A bead of sweat makes my forehead slippery; I use the back of my sleeve to wipe at the moisture. My skin is on fire. There's a throbbing at the back of my head where I lost patches of my hair last year. The brown strands of silk eventually grew back, but, right now, I can still smell the stink of burnt hair. In the distance, I can still see my sister burning to death.

"Calm down," Haymitch says. "I told Paylor you weren't going, didn't I?"

I don't say anything. I just stand there and battle the demons that visit me on a regular basis. The orange-size scar on my wrist is itching. I dig my nails across it, expecting relief but never finding any. Haymitch, detecting a mental breakdown (I've had more than one here), takes me by the shoulders and leads me to the kitchen. He makes me sit at the table while he draws a pitcher of water, stumbling as he does so, which causes most of the water to spill out of the silver pitcher—the same one I typically use to wake him from his drunken stupors. He's constantly drunk on liquor; I'm just as often drunk on madness, which makes me wonder who is worse off. I come to the conclusion that we're both goners. And that's why we make great company.

Haymitch is in my face now, demanding I drink some water. I manage to reach out and take it. He tells me to breathe; focus on something joyful. I want to tell him that it's impossible for me to do that, but I have a feeling he already knows and doesn't care. I have to try harder. The happiest moments of my life are shared by my father, Prim, or Gale, and I can't handle any of them right now. So my mind wonders to the next best thing—Peeta. His warm arms and soft lips. His uncanny compassion for people—for me. That, along with the water and deep breaths, is enough to pull me from the edge of craziness. My skin isn't on fire anymore. The scar on my wrist, though sore and bleeding from my nails digging into it, doesn't itch as much. I'm gradually coming back.

Haymitch has disappeared. I imagine he has taken his nightly face plant. When he returns a few minutes later, I'm surprised. "You better keep that water close," he says.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because you have a visitor."

"Who is it?" I question, and then I'm suddenly assaulted by the memory of President Snow's visit. The shock that ran the length of my body when I smelled the blood on his breath, that rose, and the look of worry on my mother's face as she closes the door on us after delivering some milk and cookies. It all could have happened yesterday. That's how close the memory felt. And it scares me.

My skin is burning again. I think I feel my head throbbing, and my scar itching, as well.

"Come and see, sweetheart," says Haymitch.

I don't want to look anymore pathetic in front of the boozer, so I follow him into the parlor where my 'visitor' has settled in.

"Well, don't you look worse than ever before," Johanna says.

A rush of something strange numbs the inside of my belly. Is it happiness? Relief? Hate? Pleasure, maybe? I don't know, so I just say, "What are you doing here?"

"You're one to roll out the welcoming mats, aren't you?" she notes.

"If I knew you were coming, I would have baked a cake, too."

She laughs. "Don't tell me dough-boy has you trading in your arrows for oven mitts now?"

"Not quite," I say as I take in her profile. Her hair has grown; it's just below her neck now. Her face looks good, and if I didn't know any better, a glint of happiness is shaded there. She's wearing soldiers gear… almost like the get-up we wore during our training together, except more….professional? Not as…District 7?

"New uniforms," she says, noticing my curious look. "They are calling it the 'retro' look in District 2. Oh, come on, Katniss—don't act so surprised."

"So you're living in District 2 now? And you're a solider," I say the last part slowly.

Her cheery face makes sense now. And it suddenly has the name Gale written all over it.

"Relax, Mockingjay. I'm not hooking up with your boyfriend. We're only friends," she says. "Not my choice, by the way. That boy gets hotter every day."

"What are you doing here?" I ask again, louder this time.

"I'm your ride," she says simply.

I look around for Haymitch. He's face-down on the carpet with his knife in one hand and bottle in the other.

"He's quite the charmer, isn't he?" Johanna says as an enormous snore erupts from the nearby carpet.

We both laugh.

"I'm not coming with you, you know that, right?" I say finally.

"I supposed so. But, the people want you at this celebration, so here I am." I'm tempted to ask if Gale is included on the list of people who want me there.

"Are you hungry?"

"Starved."

I make Johanna a plate of leftovers. Like Haymitch and me, we sit in almost complete silence as she eats. There's an occasional question about Peeta, or about my life after the takeover, but no questions of District 2 or Gale.

"Bobdoc is going to be really great thing, you know," Johanna says after the food is gone and there are no more distractions. "Considering that this week would have been the 76th Annual Hunger Games if we hadn't stopped the Capitol's reign of terror."

"Last I checked we agreed that there should've been a 76th Hunger Games with Capitol children."

"That was before you killed Coin, crazy. Everything is different now," says Johanna. "Look, I'm the last who wants to admit this, but you, Katniss Everdeen, will go down in History as the girl who was brave enough to change the world forever."

"I never meant to be that girl."

"Whether you meant to be or not, you are, and you need to see how you changed, not only this District, but all the other Districts. The people need you, and I don't care how hard you try to deny it, a part of you needs them, too. Now, please, before all this righteous talk makes me throw up, come back with me to District 2 and let's celebrate our freedom together."

A series of heartbeats pass before I speak, "I will not make any speeches; I will not put on a single Mockingjay outfit, and if one person tries to film me, I will kill them."

"Katniss, that's the best damn idea you've ever had," Johanna says. "The no speeches part, I mean."

I take the pitcher of water Haymitch drew for me to the sink. "When do we leave?" I ask.

"Tonight," she replies.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks so much for the reviews. You guys rock! Keep the comments coming. I'm having fun writing this fic so I hope you guys continue to have fun reading it. After this Chapter….District 2. ;)

Chapter 3

In the parlor, I kick Haymitch as hard as I can in the gut. I'm careful to avoid being sliced at the ankles by his knife. When he comes to, and sees that it's me disturbing his stupor, he stops waving his knife around like a madman. I hear Johanna snicker behind me. In the past, I would have laughed too. Because, I have to admit, the sight of Haymitch going crazy is pretty funny. But since I have—on more than one occasion—looked equally as foolish, I don't laugh with her.

"Humph," Haymitch groans.

"Wake up," I insist. "I've decided to go to District 2, after all. And you're coming with me."

"Don't think so," Haymitch mutters and then he turns on his side to slip back into stagnation.

I make my frustration known. Another swift kick...to his kidneys this time. But he doesn't budge. I look at Johanna, who is grinning from ear to ear. She is delighted by our dysfunctional relationship. "Don't hold back on my account," she says.

So I go to the kitchen, fill that silver pitcher with water again, hot water, that is, and come back to empty it right on his face. He jumps to his feet, slashing his knife at nobody, angry and wet.

"Damn it!" he shouts. "That burns!"

Johanna is laughing when she voices her interest. "You're lucky I didn't give it a row." Then she plucks something off her belt. Of all the dangerous and fun gadgets protruding there, she reveals a small piece of metal, no bigger than my pinky finger, to be her favorite. Its shape and form is identical to a battery, has the same voltage as an electric fence, she claims, and all you have to do is twist the top off. A pincher the size of a needle pops out. You then just jab it into the person you want to electrocute. "I haven't used it on anybody yet. But I figure if I hang around you long enough, that will change. Don't worry, it won't kill you," she vows. "It'll just sting a lot." I shake my head, exceedingly curious what idiot trusted Johanna with all these weapons.

Haymitch, who isn't the least bit cuckold by Johanna, doesn't say anything as he gathers his knife and liquor bottle from the floor. He goes to change, and when he appears again, I don't waste time. "So are you coming with me or not?" I ask.

"Not," he confirms. And it's like we're back to square one. Before the 74th Hunger Games. When all he had to offer me was his vomit and incoherent baffling. The tail end of his liquor bottles goes up and then drops again. He smacks his lips together and moans gratefully, welcoming the burn. The urge to grab Johanna's toy and use it on him is almost painful.

"Why not?"

Wasn't he just encouraging me to go less than an hour ago? With, 'They want to celebrate their Mockingjay' Or 'I think it will be good for you to get out of District 12, even if it's only a week'.

"I think this is something you need to do on your own," Haymitch explains.

"I'm perfectly fine going without you," I clarify. "I just thought that maybe you wanted to celebrate our freedom, too."

"I can celebrate it right here." The tail end of the liquor bottle goes up for the second time.

"Or you can celebrate in District 2, where there's a verity of liquor, and me," I say.

I don't know why my need for Haymitch is so strong. Or maybe I do, and that's why I'm having such a difficult time accepting his decline. I've grown entierly too fond of this drunken man…

"Would you two just shut up already," Johanna interrupts. "Daddy doesn't want to come on the trip, so what? Let's go before this house becomes my casket."

_Daddy doesn't want to come on the trip…_

There it is. The answer I've known all along. Haymitch has become like a father to me. A downgrade compared to my last one, true, but he somehow managed to rise to the occasion.

"Fine. Let's go," I say to Johanna. "If you can remember, feed Buttercup." I direct that toward Haymitch. "Oh, and don't drown in your vomit while I'm gone."

I have Johanna follow me to the kitchen where I gather some of my things—the hunting sack—my bow and quiver—the hunting Jacket that belonged to my father, and in its pocket, the pearl Peeta gave me during the Quarter Quell.

"We need to make a couple pit stops first," I tell her. "To my house and the bakery."

"Right, got to see loaf-boy off. You two finally make it official?" she asks.

"Not really," I say.

Or maybe we did…I'm not sure. Truthfully, I don't know the first thing about being someone's lover. Or I guess I do. Because I played the part so well during the Hunger Games and Quarter Quell, I started a rebellion. But when it comes down to it, I'm still horrible at the whole thing. He's incredibly patient with me, always saying that my kisses and company at night are enough for now. I wonder if it will be enough forever, because even though I do love him, there's a bigger part of me that still wants to run away and live in the woods for the rest of my days.

"Hmmmmm," Johanna hums.

"What?" I probe.

"Gale was wrong then," she replies.

Gale. I can see his face in my mind's eye with such precise detail, I'm almost sure he's here in Haymitch's kitchen with us. Of course, he's not. I want to ask Johanna what he said about Peeta and me. Then I realize I'll be able to ask him myself—the chances of us running into each other in District 2 are very high. Even more so if he knows I'm coming, which I'm sure he does. Suddenly, I'm hit with the memory of our last moments together. _"Was it your bomb?" I had asked him. "I don't know. Neither does Beetee," he told me. "Does it matter? You'll always be thinking about it." _We barely graveled over the topic when he touched my face and left. To this day, my cheek burns where he grazed it.

"So he's the reason you didn't want to come, huh?" Johanna looks into my eyes and sees a glimpse of Gale there. "Can't say I blame you. The kid is a heartbreaker."

"Alright! I'll go." Haymitch stumbls into the kitchen. He's holding a black duffle bag in one hand and a fresh wine bottle in the other.

The surprise and immense gratitude I feel nearly drowns me. His timing is anything but off.


	4. Chapter 4

Once again, you guys ROCK! I love the reviews. I have to admit, this Chapter was little tough to write, but I made it through, and I hope you all do as well. The moment you've been waiting for…District 2 ;)

Chapter 4

District 2 puts me on edge for many reasons. It was where I was shot, for starters. After running to the aid of a young man who reminded me so much of a victim from a mine accident. Like the one my father died in. I remember our exchange—him holding me at gunpoint, asking for a reason not to shoot me—me basically telling him that I can't give him one. I remember Haymitch asking me, "Who is the enemy?" Then, after offering him, the rebels, the citizens of District 2, and the rest of Panem what I thought was a passionate response, someone does it for him. It was also the home of Cato and Clove, the two blood-thirsty Careers who might have made it home to their families if I hadn't promised Prim I would really, really try to win the 74th Hunger Games. Gale lives here.

These are just some of the reasons why I don't particularly like District 2. They are also why I hesitate before stepping off the train and onto the stone square that will take me to the Liberty Building, where my appearance is requested.

The main town is busy with people preparing for the festival. Decorations are being put up and a dozen or so tables have been set around the outskirts of the square—this is where the feast will be, I assume. As the citizens of District 2 prepare for Boddoc, I can't help but pick up on the cheerful ambiance, which, I have to admit, makes me feel a little out of place. After all, the last time I was here we were blowing up a mountain, killing everybody inside, and if they were lucky enough to have escaped the explosion, gunning them down in the square. Because of that, I think it's ok to feel strange about the drastic change in atmosphere.

The people in the square aren't too preoccupied by the hustle-and-bustle of things like I thought, or hoped, they'd be. They instantly notice their Mockingjay's arrival. I'm immediately met by a hoard of people who want to shake my hand—hug me—talk to me—touch me. I try my best to acknowledge everyone. In the chaos, I look for Haymitch. He has fallen behind. Stumbling, looking like he's going to be sick, I see him reach out to steady himself on a stranger. I advise him to stop drinking long before we arrived. He, of course, didn't listen. Johanna is next to me, quiet. I imagine she's jealous of all the attention I'm getting. I want to tell her that I would gladly switch places with her, but something tells me she already knows.

When we get to the steps of the Justice Building, we are escorted inside by a pair of soldiers. The stone building is as magnificent as ever with white marbles walls and huge pillars that descend in rows. It's beauty consumes me, but since the great entrance is just as busy as the square, I'm also consumed by people who want to meet me. I greet them with the same good manners, though I feel truely troubled by all of it. Because I know I won't survive a week of this.

I'm starting to feel dizzy when I'm lead out of the great entrance hall, and taken down a corridor, where a massive granite door appears. We enter. A meeting room, similar to the one we assembled in last year to take on the problem of the Nut, materializes. Haymitch goes to the conference table straightaway and lays his head down; he's asleep within seconds. A few seats over, I see President Paylor, who seems to have been, until my entrance, eyeing rather vigorously a document that still lies in front of her on the table. Beetee is beside her. They both open their mouths to greet me, but, a most particular voice beats them to the punch.

"Katniss, my dear!" Effie Trinket is coming towards me. "You're late." She's wearing that ridiculous golden wig. And leave it to her to comment on my punctuality.

"Didn't know I was on a schedule," I tell her.

"Of course you didn't," she says. "Come and sit." She escourts me to one of the chairs. "Thirsty?" She goes to get me a glass of water and is back with it before I can even turn it down.

"Hello, Katniss," Paylor finally greets me. The former Commander of District 8 looks genuinely pleased to see me. "I was under the impression that you would not be joining us for this celebration."

"Solider Mason talked me into it." I glance at Johanna, who has nestled herself against a back wall, looking uninterested in our conversation. "Under certain conditions, though."

"And those conditions are?" Paylor asks.

"I won't make any speeches—wear any Mockingjay outfit—or appear on any Television screen."

"I think those conditions are more than reasonable," the President says. "Now, on with business then, the celebration will begin at 7 o'clock in the square. I am kicking the night off with this."

The President holds up the document she was poring over before my arrival. All I can make out is a title, 'the Deed of Power'.

She goes on to explain what it is. "We have created this document to ensure that we never see the days of the old Capitol again. It's a promise to every citizen throughout Panem." I try not to look so confused. How can a piece of paper guarantee that? "The power no longer lies in the hands of the Capitol, Katniss. The power now lies in the hands of the people. People like you and me."

All I can do is nod. Because the realization of what I've done—what we've all done—seems unreal. _My name is Katniss Everdeen. Last year, I overthrew the Capitol. Today, we are celebrating its fall. Nothing will ever be the same. _

"We wanted to share it with you first." Beetee's eyes are sparkling behind his glasses. I'm almost sure he's going to start crying, like Effie, who is dabbing at the corner of her eyes with a bright pink handkerchief.

"Thank you," I say.

"Tonight we will make History again," Paylor tells me. "In the meantime, Commander Hawthorne has offered his home to you and your mentor."

I follow Paylor's gaze to Gale, who has slipped into the room unnoticed.

There are certain moments you know you're going to remember for a long time. This is one of those moments for me. And by the look on his face, I'd say it's one for him too. We're examining each other—searching for any sign of the boy and girl who met in the woods years ago—the boy and girl who became best friends—the boy and girl who might have even fallen in love with each other. Are they still alive somewhere? I wonder if he can see them. Because no matter how hard I look, I can't. All I see is a shell of them. He's wearing a uniform identical to Johanna's, only since Paylor referred to him as Commander, I know he's more important. And it's no surprise to me.

"Hello, Katniss," Gale says. His greeting does surprise me, though. I thought for sure he'd greet me as Catnip. He always did.

Then it hits me. He can't find the boy and girl from the woods, either.

The pain I feel is excruciating, but I manage a small, "Hello." Besides us, Haymitch is the only one left in the room now. And it's only because he's unconscious. Even Johanna, who usually takes pleasure in my discomfort, has gone. I imagine they all shuffled out somewhere between the intense stare and awkward greeting.

"How are you?" Gale speaks first. Which is good. Because I have no idea what to say.

"Fine." My throat is dry so I take the water Effie gave me and drink it down in two gulps. "And how are you, _Commander Hawthorne_?"

"Surviving," he replies.

I'm suddenly hit with a memory. One, cold night in Tigris's cellar. I was supposed to have been sleeping. Gale told Peeta, "_Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can't survive without." _I remember how horrible his words made me feel, and even now, I resent them.

"You're good at that," I offer.

"Yeah, and so are you," he tells me.

"I'm alive. I guess that means you're right," is all I can say.

Gale is on the other side of the conference table, watching me. After a long stare-off, he says, "I wish I knew how we got here."

"I got here by a train. I assume you got here the same way, only a year ago."

"You know what I meant," he says.

"And you know how we got here," I answer.

He lets out an exasperated sigh. "Fine. If this is how you want it to be, I'm game."

A long silence follows his words until Haymitch mumbles something in his sleep. Gale, who looks exactly the same, with his grey eyes, broad shoulders, and black hair, waits for me to say something. I don't. I want to. But can't. _My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm eighteen-years-old. I live in District 12. Gales lives in District 2. Because he killed my sister. _My skin is on fire. I instinctively touch the back of my head. Brown strands of hair fill up my fingers. Next, I'm touching the scar on my wrist. Because it's itching so badly. I drag my nails across the organge-size knife wound.

"Katniss?" Gale says my name. It sounds far off-like the way the world sounded when I lost the hearing in my left ear, just after blowing up the Career's campsite during the Hunger Games.

I look crazy. I feel crazy. I am crazy. But I have to pull myself together. Because I can't let him see me like this. Or is it too late already?

"Katniss?" Gale is beside me now, kneeling as he takes my hand in his.

The shock of his touch runs the length of my body—an odd mix of surprise and guilt and a jolt of pleasure that goes all the way to my toes. I rise from my chair, my hip clipping his shoulder as I jet past him. I go to a table that is lined against a far wall. Assembled across it, is a pitcher of water, various snacks like crackers and cookies, and other less-than-fabulous assortments. I drink straight from the pitcher. No time for etiquettes- though Effie would disagree. I take a deep breath. Try to think of anything. Anything besides Prim. And the image of her being blown away by the bomb he created.

"What are you thinking?" Gale is behind me. I can feel him reaching out to comfort me.

I barely slip his touch.

"I'm thinking that I want a new place to stay for the week."


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for the wonderful reviews. Please keep em' coming! Sorry I couldn't update sooner-caught myself a nasty cough this weekend. This Chapter was very fun to write. Hope you enjoy every second of it. ;)

Chapter 5

Gale comes through. Within the hour, Johanna has replaced him as host—a not so gracious one, which is to be expected. From the time it takes us to get from the square, to her small house on the outskirts of the main town, she's insulted my sanity several times over and has branded me, "Katniss, the girl who was an idiot." I don't know whether to be angry with her or accept that she's right—I am nuts. Just not for the reason she's saying. So what if Gale is incredibly good looking? And so what if any 'sane' girl would jump at the opportunity to share a living space with him for a week? We just covered that I wasn't 'sane', didn't we? Haymitch is quiet while we bicker about this. Either he's too hunger over. Or he doesn't want to get involved. I'm guessing the latter.

Johanna's house is small, but comfortable. There's only one bedroom, and since I know she won't be offering it to either of us—not that I would take it, even if she did—I throw my things at the foot of the couch. Haymitch will take the floor.

District 7 has made an impression here. I'm just settling in when I notice the chairs, the tables, the mantelpieces, and the knickknacks that sit atop them, are all solid oak. Even the floors are hardwood. It smells nice, too, an outdoorsy aroma that reminds me of the woods back home. If I close my eyes, it's like I'm sitting in my favorite tree. I take a moment to enjoy the feeling because I'm not sure if I'll have the opportunity to hunt this week. I wonder if Gale hunts here. Does he set up snares the way he did in District 12? Does he ever wish for a hunting partner? Because it's always comforting to know someone has your back. Or did he already have a partner? A female one who is just as good with a bow, but doesn't annoy him as much? My interest in Gale is maddening. It should be easy enough to forget about him and go on with life, but because he was my best friend, because he loved me once, and because he, at some point, made me unconditionally happy, I decide it's not something I can do over night. It's not even something I can do in a year.

I can still see—with precise detail—the look on his face when I told him I didn't want to stay with him this week. Hurt. Anger. Understanding. He left without a word to me. I didn't care at the time; I was still recovering from the mental breakdown he brought on. Now, though, I wish I could offer him some sort of truce. But even if we did agree to be civil toward one another, could I still honor our imaginary deal when the images of Prim's end display in my mind, as they erratically do from time to time? Condemning Gale to the dark abyss of my heart? Because it was his fault.

I'm wrong in accusing Gale of this monstrosity. I know I am. He loved Prime. He loved my mother. He loved me. He still did—maybe. There was no way he could have known. Regardless of all that, I'm finding forgiving him to be most difficult.

But I need to forget about Gale for the moment. Because there are other issues at hand—like what I'm going to do about my appearance tonight. I typically wouldn't care, but since this will be my first celebration in which a total body makeover is not required, I'm in all conscience, lost. I keep expecting my old prep team— Venia with her golden tattoos, Octavia and her forest green skin, Flavius wearing his orange locks—to drive through the door at any moment to prepare me for the festival, demanding to know why my nails are destroyed, and why my hair is nested in untamable knots, as they so often did in the past.

I'm skeptical in trusting Johanna with my dilemma. So in the end, I twist my hair into a traditional braid, slip on my newest pair of trousers and a coal black blouse. No make-up. It's the best I can do. I'm halfway satisfied when I catch a glimpse of myself in a nearby mirror. I guess I'm not half bad at the whole feminine thing.

When Johanna appears in the hallway, I instantly take back my last thought. I _am_ bad at being a pretty girl. I'm all but paralyzed with disbelief and admiration. She looks the best I've ever seen her, happy even. The little hair that she does have is curled in tight loops around her small face, and her wide-set brown eyes are sparkling under the gray shadow eddied on her eyelids. She's wearing a black dress, shiny and sleeveless.

"Wow," I can't help but say. "You look beautiful." I'm not the type to handout compliments, especially to somebody who was just calling me a rampant lunatic, but I make an exception since she took me in and really did look beautiful.

"Thank you," she smiles as she answers. "I wish I could say the same about you."

"I'm not really that concerned about it," I tell her.

"Come on," she beckons me. "You need to at least look half alive for this thing."

It takes her less than an hour to make me over. Once she finishes, she leads me to the bathroom. When I look in the mirror, I gasp. To say I'm satisfied with what she's done would be an understatement. She achieved the impossible—made me beautiful in way no one ever has before. I was still me, plain and unruly, but in some way, strikingly reformed. I decide then that she has a knack for making unpleasant things likeable. She left my hair in a braid, saying that it was my trademark, but put me in an elegant dress that was woodland green and swooped into a V at my chest, the sleeves two inches thick and hanging just off my shoulders. She tells me that this is the dress she wore on the day she was reaped. This quiet gesture makes my stomach twist. I feel closer to Johanna with every passing minute. The make-up is what really stuns me, though. With a few lashes of a blush-brush, a dab here and there of something else, and two strokes of coal black liner, she achieves her goal. I look more alive now than I have all year. The best part is that I still look like me. My face is brighter, though. And my grey eyes are bursting with life, an entity I haven't seen in a long time. Even Haymitch, who was celebrating early with a bottle of liquor, stated his approval, groggily so.

The festival has already started by the time we arrive in the square. People are everywhere, laughing, cheering, drinking, dancing, and eating. There is an internal struggle chomping away at me as I watch the gleeful scene unfold around me. A large part of me is angry—enraged that someone like me gets to live and take pleasure in such pure happiness and delight, while beautiful souls, like Prime and Rue, stay lost in infinite fire and death. The other half of me, a much smaller portion, wants to join the celebration. The old Capitol is gone forever. That was something to celebrate, right?

"Katniss! Katniss!"

People were starting to notice me. I wave, blow kisses every now and then, all the while staying close to Haymitch and Johanna, who are heading straight for the food. A grand idea—I am famished. I let my name become background noise until a certain voice exclaims it, loud and unmistakable.

"Katniss Everdeen!" Plutarch Heavensbee is pulling me into his chest before I can even put down the buttered roll in my hand. "My favorite movie star!"

I pull away from him, annoyed. "Hello, Plutarch," I greet him, still rather irritated. I know why he's here—what he wants. "How are you?"

"I would be better if you made a surprise appearance on my TV tonight, but President Paylor has advised me that you've refused all propaganda for the week," he says gloomily.

"President Paylor is right," I say, and then I take a big chunk of bread into my mouth. "S'ree."

"Pity," he complains. "I hope you know I won't be giving up."

Me either, I want to say, but I just smile and offer a polite, "I'm sure you won't."

He continues to chatter about his TV shows, pitching new ideas and offering me parts, until he sees someone else important and scurries away to corner them. I'm relieved to see him go, though I know he'll be back for me sometime soon.

I look for Johanna, who, to my surprise, is currently partaking in liquor tasting with Haymitch a few tables down. I've never seen her drink before, but since she is already prone to unpleasantness, something tells me she would be a frightful drunk. After stuffing my face with a few more buttered rolls, I join them at the table of booze. Red wine, brown liquor, white wine, clear liquor—the selection is endless.

"Katniss, the girl who was in idiot," Johanna laughs as she says this. I don't laugh. Not because it hurts my feelings, but because it reminds me of Gale—who I haven't seen yet. "I'm sorry about that. I can be really mean sometimes."

"Lucky for you, I don't take anything you say seriously," I tell her. "I didn't know you drank."

"It's a celebration!" she shouts. "Good reddens, Capitol bastards!" The bottle she has is almost empty. She takes a moderately long drink and then pushes the liquor into my chest. "Drink up, Katniss."

At that moment, the music dies down, the thundering crowd strides into a quiet rumble, and everything goes still for a moment. President Paylor has taken the stage. She stands tall on the platform, a leader at her highest. The Liberty Building glistens in the moonlight behind her. I admire it for a second—it's kind of hard not to.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, boy and girls, Districts 1 through 13, I stand in front of you today as not just your leader, but a follower, a friend, a role model, a person who has, like many of you, suffered through a lot. Hunger—death of loved ones—war. But I am here to tell you, no more!"

An enormous cheer erupts. I glance at Johanna. Her bottle is in the air as she screams her approval. Next to her, Haymitch looks dumbfounded, like he's been stung by a trackerjacker and is trying to sort out what's real and what's not.

Paylor continues. She reveals the 'Deed of Power' at the end of speech, and after the crowd settles, concludes her appearance with a memorable show. Fireworks. Big and loud and beautiful. But I'm not watching them. Because something else catches my eye. Gale is standing behind the President. He's her guard, obviously, but that's not really significant to me. What really peaks my interest, is the girl standing dangerously close to him. I notice his arm is placed gently around her waist. She's beautiful. Pale skin. Perfectly structured face. Slender body, but healthy looking. She's wearing a white, sparkling dress, see through almost.

I grab Johanna, who is still cheering and throwing her liquor bottle around like mad woman as the fireworks continue to go off. She stops, startled by my unexpected roughness. I'm startled, too.

"What is it, crazy?" she asks.

I'm suddenly mourning my decision to involve her. Then again, she's my only friend here. A seriously malfunctioned one, but beggars can't be choosers, right?

"Who is that?"

She follows my gaze to the stage. We're both staring at her now. Neither of them notices.

"That's Rose," she answers dejectedly. "Gale's girlfriend."

Rose. I look at her again and realize her hair is the color of blood. I instantly dislike her. "Oh," I say, and then I'm suddenly very thirsty.

Johanna either knows me very well, or knows what I'm feeling, because she offers me her bottle right as I reach out to take it.

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><p>AN: I have to be evil and tease a little bit. Next chapter, we see a much more 'loose' version of Katniss. Stay tuned . ;)<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

Hello all! Thanks for the reviews, they keep me going strong. Please continue to keep my fueled, but more importantly, enjoy this next installment.

Chapter 6

My taste for liquor hasn't changed. The swill is harsher than I last recall, a potent mash of malt and grain that leaves my throat burning, but I gulp it down anyway.

I expect a headache in the morning; and, I assume a visit—or two—to a toilet bowl will be necessary before the night settles; I also know that I won't be my normal, reserved self tonight.

I can handle all of these complications—the burn, the headache, the vomit, the abandoned self-awareness. What I can't lever with, though, is the pulsating emotions bathing contentedly in my physique. So I mean to drown everything out—completely. My rash decision to camouflage my emotional state is both weak and annoying, but I'm good with smokescreens, and I've got about enough liquor in me not to care.

It's nearing midnight. Johanna and Haymitch have disappeared into the crowd, deliriously drunk and pleased with the night. I'm feeling an adequate amount of wooziness myself, but not so much that I'm falling all over the place. The bottle I hold in my hand is almost empty. I take the last swig, swallow with a quiver, and welcome the burn like I would an old friend.

My crooked gaze ventures over to a large group of people dancing a few yards ahead. I move towards them, staggering half the way until I have to stop, collect myself, and continue on. I approach the edge of the dancing circle, careful to not fall into the ring of dancers. But after a few minutes of standing there, my feet betray me and I end up tripping over nothing. A stranger, with pastel skin and abnormally large front teeth, saves me from an embarrassing fall. "Katniss!" The man, Bucky, I nickname him, is overjoyed by my clumsiness. He doesn't even notice my being wasted. Maybe because he's just as drunk. "Dance with me!" He leads me into the crowd of dancers before I can even wrap my mind around what's happening. I take a deep breath and try to make sense of everything, like what events got me to this moment in the first place. I remember the girl with the blood-red hair. I shake my head in hopes of a clear mind, but I just get dizzy. When the world around me comes back into focus, I realize my biggest concern, now, is not stepping on Bucky's toes.

When the song ends, I'm handed over to a new dancing partner. This time it is a burly man with features similar to Johanna's. I envision him in District 7, chopping down an overwhelmingly huge tree. The newest song starts. Joe, I call him, moves gracefully. While I, on the other hand, just sort of sway from side to side because most of my concentration and energy is going into trying to see straight.

The songs continue and I never run out of dancing partners. Everybody wants a roll with the Mockingjay, and considering my level of inebriation, I do an extraordinary good job keeping up with them. Meaning—I don't make_ that_ big a fool of myself. I think.

Another song ends, and I bow happily to my latest partner because I feel truly good for the first time in months. I'm just about to switch partners when I feel someone close behind me.

"Is it my turn?" the voice says, hopeful.

I turn to meet Gale's gaze. His surprise appearance arouses me in a way it never has before. I feel something stronger than butterflies flutter in my belly—and it makes me want to throw up.

No! Absolutely not. I want to tell him. But for undetermined reasons, I let him take my hand. He pulls me towards him, surprised but conceitedly pleased with himself. A deep warmth delights my limbs when his fingers lace around mine. I tell myself it's the liquor.

A new song starts. We observe each other as we move to the tune, silent until the song slows, and we have to move closer together because, regrettably, the melody is a slow one. He smirks smugly as he twirls me around. When he pulls me back into him, our chests brush. I don't like the sensation it gives me so I try to avoid it the next time I go around.

I meet Gale's gaze for a moment, and then quickly look away. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his lips turn up in an uneven grin.

"Is something funny?" I ask precipitously.

"You're drunk." It's a statement—not a question.

"I'm celebrating," I say simply.

"Uh-huh." He twirls me again. "Or covering something up."

"So what if I am?" I demand.

"If you are, I'd ask what you are hiding from."

"And I'd tell you it's no one of your business," I snap, and then I feel bad so I try to recover with, "I guess I'm just giving into the inevitable. Can we talk about something else please?"

Gale struggles for a moment, wanting more than anything to continue with our present conversation, investigate my actions further. "You look beautiful tonight," he offers, which is not much better than what we just strayed away from.

"Thanks," I say. "So do you." I, on no occasion, would ever whisper something like that to Gale. But my choice of drink has awoken a subconscious part of me. And there's a layer of truth behind my words anyway. He does look beautiful. His eyes are soft tonight, the hatred and rage that I know to live there is missing. His slick hair is longer than I remember, and it glistens like black glitter under the lamppost lights. He's wearing a coal colored long-sleeve pull over, and it reminds me of the turtle neck I was going to wear tonight, before Johanna commandeered it. "I'm sorry about earlier," I apologize before he has the chance to comment on my latest confession.

"Don't worry about it," he dismisses my apology. "I was expecting it, actually."

"So why did you even offer?" I ask.

"Because I was hoping I would be wrong."

I let his words settle in my intoxicated mind. "I wish you were," I say in a soft voice.

We carefully examine each other for a moment, and then look at our feet when it becomes too agonizing. One thing is clear—we're both carrying some seriously heavy baggage. Baggage that will never be sorted out. After what seems like a decade, the song ends.

I instantly pull away, but he grabs my elbows and whispers, "One more song."

I nod; it's all I can do. Because I've completely forgotten how to speak. I inhale and try to remember how to structure a proper sentence. When I exhale, I think I've got it figured out. I, once again, blame the liquor for my confusion. The music starts; it's another slow song. I curse inside my head when I see a flicker of pleasure spark in Gale's eyes—he wanted this. And it rubs me the wrong way, subsequently causing a burst of anger.

So when he pulls me back into him, and we start swaying back and forth, I say, "_Rose_ looks very beautiful tonight too, don't you think? Even more so than me." My sarcasm is thick—and obvious.

Gale withdraws into his mind, stunned, but resurfaces quickly. There's a smug grin on his face, and I understand its meaning perfectly. We've been a part for a year, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's forgotten how to read me. I've just accidently revealed the truth behind my drunkenness to him, and I want to shoot myself for it.

He sidesteps my latest comment with, "How's Peeta doing?"

Translated, he's telling me to back off, that I have no right to be jealous because I chose Peeta. He's right, and I take it as another reason to hate him.

"He's great. _We're _great," I sneer, pretending like I don't know him just as well as he knows me.

If my comment about Rose didn't set him off, this does. His lips harden into a thin line, eyes narrow, and I'm suddenly being slung across the dance floor in a much less supple fashion.

"You'll like Rose. You two have a lot in common. She's a master archer, too. Doesn't miss," he taunts.

This news makes my skin boil. "I'm willing to test that theory."

Gale snickers. "Well, Catnip, as usual, the odds are ever in your favor. Rose and I are going to the shooting range tomorrow. You can join us." The song ends. Gale releases me. "Don't forget your bow." He turns and walks away. I see the muscles on his neck tense up as he goes. I wonder if it's because he can feel me watching him leave.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for the reviews! You guys rock….always. I saw the newest trailer for the upcoming movie yesterday, and I drove myself crazy watching it over and over. March can't get here soon enough. I will distract myself with this story for now. I'm confident you will all appreciate this chapter. Don't forget to leave me some love! Also, I've had a bad cough, and I finally went to the doctor and got some GOOD cough medicine, SO , if there are any drastic errors or something doesn't make sense…I apologize.

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><p>Chapter 7<p>

My head is throbbing when I wake up. For a moment, I have no recollection of where I'm at or how I got here. Then, the previous night is like a tidal wave in my mind, drowning me in blurry images that make me feel embarrassed. The feeling of self-resentment is quickly replaced by surprise when I finally realize where I'm at—and who I'm with.

Johanna is next to me, her back resting against my stomach, my arm around her waist. We're nuzzled together, still in our dresses from the night before. Surprisingly, I don't move away. I don't move at all, actually, and I hope she doesn't either. Because strangely, I want to relish in our closeness. I take a moment to decipher the unexpected feelings growing in my heart. And it doesn't take long to discover why this intimacy completely numbs my body with pleasure.

If I close my eyes just right, Prim is with me, sleeping happily in my arms. I can smell her hair, flowers and medicinal herbs. I can feel the rise and fall of her chest. It's like she never left me.

When I open my eyes, I expect immense pain, because I've known all along that Prim isn't here and never will be again, but something else fills me up instead. Affection.

I feel true affection for the woman in my arms, a type of attachment only a sister could feel. So, for a few minutes, I let Johanna Mason fill the hole that Primrose Everdeen left behind. She doesn't stir, even after I get up and go to the bathroom, where I wash away last night's make-up; strip out of the dress and into something more comfortable. When I return, she's still sleeping, and I notice then how incredibly peaceful she looks. There are no traces of the damaged roommate I once bunked with in District 13, which makes me wonder if I ever appear that way in my sleep. The answer is an immediate no. Because I'm still damaged, still holding on to the fire and rage that the old Capitol initiated, still fighting for my life in the 74th Hunger Games and Quarter Quell, still searching for Rue, Prim, and occasionally Finnick, or anyone that risked their life for their Mockingjay, who is really nothing more than a coward and an inevitable drunkard.

Before I can inflict anymore self-destructive thoughts upon myself, I go into the living room where Haymitch is snoring on the couch, and where my bow and quiver lay waiting. I slip into my hunting boots, pull on my father's hunting jacket, and play with the cold pearl in its pocket until I'm outside. The air is stale this morning. But the sky is cloudless, which means there won't be any rain. Johanna's house is right on the outskirts of the forest, so it doesn't take me long to venture deep into the woods, where the game is usually at its highest. I scale a good-looking tree, and perch. My first kill is a squirrel that was scurrying down a near-by tree, probably getting ready to gather its food for the day. Too bad for it, I was gathering mine at the same time. My second kill is a wild turkey that appears in the clearing yards away. When I go to gather it, I'm surprised to find someone has already beaten me to it. Gale is here, smiling haughtily at me. His shock appearance makes my head spin. Why does he always have to do that? Appear out of nowhere like a bad magician.

He holds up the turkey and says, "Looks like we've got ourselves a problem."

I follow his gaze to the game in his hand. There are two arrows sticking out of it. One cleanly penetrates the turkey's right eye—that shot is mine. The other—straight through the neck. Was it Gales shot? Or someone else's? Someone who is supposedly just as good with a bow. I look around for her, nervous and edgy and ready to prove myself. She isn't anywhere I can see. I relax; take a moment to meet with the feelings pulsating through my body. There's delight at the sight of him, hate at the idea that he's not alone, confusion because I want so badly to be his Catnip, and guilt for thinking that he's the reason my sister's dead. There's no liquor to blame these feelings on today. They're, unfortunately, as real as I am.

"You can keep it," I tell him. My plan is to turn and walk away, but I don't, and I think it's his gaze keeping me rooted to my spot.

"Glade I have your permission," he says as he pulls the arrows out of our game. "Because you know what they say, stealing is punishable by death."

I can't help but giggle. And it's the first time I've felt at peace with him since…..

"Are you alone?" I finally ask, because I keep expecting Rose to appear out of nowhere and the anxiety of it is driving me nuts.

He offers me my arrow. When I reach out to grab it, my fingertips brush lightly over his hand.

"Yes," he replies, and it seems that our accidental touch has set his skin on fire, just as it has mine. I assume this because he's looking at me with such an intense gaze, I have to look away.

Gale is the first to speak after we gather ourselves. "I'm surprised to see you out. Figured you might be sleeping still, or have your head in a toilet bowl somewhere."

"I guess I can handle my liquor better than you thought," I tell him.

"It appears so." He puts the turkey in his hunting sack, looks around the woods, and then at me. "You feel like company today?" He nods into the forest.

I don't know how long it's been since we've actually hunted together. More than a year, I know that for sure. "Okay," I approve. There's a big part of me that wants to try, or at least see, if we can repair our friendship.

"Good, I've got the perfect spot," he says as he reaches out to offer his hand.

I'm reluctant at first, but because he's waiting and I don't feel like arguing, I take it. He pulls me around the forest, up some rocky cliffs, and down moss-covered banks until we stop at an odd-shaped rock wall completely overtaken by vines and ivy.

"I thought of you when I first discovered this place," Gale tells me as he pulls some of the vines aside and a hole in the wall big enough for a human to walk though is revealed.

I stare inside the dark, murky cave. "A cave?"

He smirks wickedly as he steps into the hole. "Come on and see."

It is pitch dark inside the cave. I have to cling onto Gale so I don't fall or lose him in the darkness. My chest is rising and falling quickly against his hard, muscular back. I can feel the thump of his heartbeat; it's rapidly pulsing, just like mine. My thoughts begin to wander. I'm hit with the image of him and me together, kissing passionately, moaning into each other's bare skin. I recall our last kiss—the way it made me feel, full and content. I think about how happy he could've made me if Prim hadn't died, if I didn't blame him for it, and if Peeta wasn't involved. A part of me wonders if there is still a chance for us, depsite where we are in our relationship right now. The thought is ridiculous, and I don't even have time to review the possibility, because light has suddenly broken through the cave.

I instantly let go of Gale, who has yet to look or speak to me. Just ahead, I see that the light is coming from another opening in the wall; just like the one we entered from. Except the air drifting towards us is much cooler, which means….

I step out of the cave and gasp. Gale has brought me to a huge, circular quarry, complete with a flower-covered meadow that leads up to a vast body of water, and on either side of the marine, are huge rock barriers cloaked by ivy and vines. Everything is bright green, healthy looking. Birds chirp in the cloudless sky. The sun is at its highest point. I feel as if I'm in an entirely different world than the one I woke up in.

"You feel like going for a swim?"

I look at Gale, who is smiling, satisfied with my reaction to his secret place. Before I can answer, he drops his hunting sack, bow and quiver, and then releaves himself of his shirt and pants.

"Sure," I say sheepishly.

I've forgotten just how good-looking Gale is. His chest is tan and chiseled—a type of body the girls go crazy for. In District 12, during the summers when the sun was at its hottest, he would go shirtless and the school girls would go nuts for him-like a pack of starving wolves that just got thrown a steak. Always giggling, whispering obscene things when he passed. It annoyed me so much that I wouldn't go out with him in public unless he promised to wear a shirt. Even now, I want him to promise me he'll put his shirt on before we head back into town.

I notice that I'm starring, so I quickly look away, my cheeks reddening as I drop my own hunting sack and bow and quiver. I release myself from my father's hunting jacket. I realize, now, that I'll have to go shirtless and pants-less as well. I'm hesitant. In the end, I decide, what the hell. I've at least got on a bra and pansies.

"I'll race you," he challenges, once I'm stripped.

"I'll win," I shoot back.

"We'll see."

He takes off. I'm quick to follow.

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><p>Author's Note: Next Chapter, some more Gale and Katniss. Rose, too. ;) Don't forget to review me! 3 Jovan.<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

Hello all! Thanks very much for the great feedback. I delight in reading your thoughts and comments. I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. Warning: this one gets angsty…but it's necessary to the story line ;) Don't forget to leave me some love!

Chapter 8

Gale beats me by a few strides. I jump in the quarry right after him, gasping from the shock of the ice cold water that engulfs me from head to toe. When I resurface, Gale isn't anywhere I can see. I know he's under the water somwhere, but when a minute passes, and he doesn't come up, I begin to whirl around in hopes of seeing him emerge soon.

I gasp when I feel his strong arms suddenly wrap around my waist from behind. He effortlessly lifts me out of the water, and then plops me back under the cold wetness in one, swift motion.

I take a huge breath when I come up. Wiping the water from my eyes, I see him laughing at me.

"Told you I'd win," he teases. "I've always been the faster one."

"You cheated! You got a head start."

He's only an arm's reach away. So I don't hesitate with my retaliation. I leap onto him, and with my entire effort, try to drive him below the water by pushing as hard as I can on his broad, slippery shoulders. He doesn't budge.

On the contrary, he dunks me again. But since I don't let go of him while I'm being dipped, he ends up going under, too. When we come back up, my arms are still wrapped around his neck and my legs have somehow managed to tangle around his waist. His sturdy arms are tightly fenced around me.

Our laughter ceases after a moment, and we quickly become aware of the dangerous position we're in. My smile fades off. His does, too. We take a moment to look at each other, two gazes bursting with nameless emotion. Our chests brush together as we breathe, and since the material covering my breasts is fairly thin, I know he can feel them heaving up and down against his upper body as I inhale and exhale. That alone should make me blush, make me want to escape, or at least say something silly to distract our thoughts from where they've so clearly wandered. But, I don't do move or say anything.

My skin is on fire, even though most of my body is submerged under cool water. We're both trembling, obtusely conscious of what's happening. Gale is the first to move. He slowly lowers his head, and very gently, kisses my collarbone, gradually making his way up to my neck. My body involuntarily replies to his wet lips; I end up bucking against him, moaning softly into his moist ear. All of my proper senses are expeditiously wiped out by a fire that burns for this—for Gale. I instantly recognize my undying thirst for him. Because I think it's been burning in me for a very long time. I've just never chosen to indulge.

"I love you so much, Katniss," Gale mutters into my skin. His lips are on my jawline now, moving closer and closer to their target.

His mouth barely brushes over my top lip when I pull away. "I can't," I whisper as I break free of his grasp and hurriedly swim back to the water's edge.

My head is spinning when I step onto the rock platform, where our clothes are. I don't look back to see if Gale is following me—I already know he is. I expect him at any moment. I quickly slip on my pants and shirt, then hunting jacket.

"Is it because of Peeta?" Gale is next to me, dripping wet, like I knew he'd be. "Are you guys like officially a thing now or something?"

I shake my head while tossing my bow over my shoulder. "Or something," I say. "Can we just not do this, Gale?"

I look at him, hoping he'll, for once, go with me. But, of course, he doesn't.

"Tell me why you freaked out, and I'll drop it," he settles.

"You have a girlfriend!" I snatch up my hunting sack, incredibly annoyed by his nerve. "Or did you forget that minor detail?"

"I didn't forget," Gale spits. He grabs his pants and shirt from the rock platform. In one, quick motion his shirt is back on, followed by his trousers. "If it isn't Peeta, and I know it wasn't Rose, it had to be something else. Something you don't want to admit to yourself."

"Since you know me so well, please enlighten me on what you think that is exactly," I propose.

"Well, you went weird right after I told you I love you, so maybe it has something to do with that." He snatches up his own hunting sack, and then continues, "Maybe you love me back, but are too scared to confess it. You always have been."

I'm silent for a moment, completely caught off guard by his straightforwardness. "Lovely theory," I finally say.

He lets out an exasperated growl—a sound that would be relatively frightening if I didn't know him so well.

"Let's go," he fumes.

We don't touch or speak at all until we're almost out of the woods. Gale is walking ahead of me when he stops and turns around so abruptly, I almost run into him.

"How deluded am I?" he declares. His eyes are watering. I don't know if it's because he's about to cry, or if they are just irritated from the quarry water and sun. Out of all the years I've known him, I've only seen him cry once, so I guess it's the water irritation.

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

"How deluded am I to think that you could ever actually love me?"

His words send a ripple of guilt through my body—a tedious feeling that goes from my head, to my heart, all the way to my toes, where it stays and irks me. I'm silent for a long time, what I want to say at the tip of my tongue, but never spilling out.

Gale shakes his, infuriated at my choice to stay silent. He turns.

I don't muster up enough courage to speak until he's yards away. "I did love you!" I screech.

He stops walking, pauses for a quick moment as if he's struggling with an internal problem, to keep walking or turn around. He chooses the latter. He's stalking toward me. "Did, as in past tense? If you _did _love me at one point, when did you stop?" he demands.

He is standing in front of me again. Close enough that I could reach out and easily graze his chest. The same one that was just recently brushing against my own, making me feel light headed and aroused. Those feelings are gone now, replaced hastily by anxiety and guilt. Anxiety… because he is waiting for a reply. Guilt… because the answer is so heart-wrenchingly flawed.

"Just say it!" he shouts, no longer interested in subtleties.

"When you killed Prim!" I regret the words as soon as they're out. But the damage is done.

Gale recoils as if I've slapped him in the face. And I think we would both agree that what I've said is way worse than a measly smack on the cheek.

"There was no way I could've known," he says through gritted teeth. "I would have never…you know that I….loved her. I still do. I thought that maybe you were—you know what, forget it, you clearly don't care what I have to say, and even if you did, it wouldn't matter." Before he turns away, he whispers, "You have proven one thing to me today—you never loved me. Never really knew me at all, actually. Thanks for clearing that up. Now I don't have to wonder anymore."

I don't say anything. All I can do is stand there, hating myself for what I said to him, for being the selfish girl who maybe really does only think of her own feelings and nobody else's. But more importantly, I hate myself for crying. The tears feel odd, warm and silky and loud, but not nearly loud enough to stop Gale.

He's yards ahead of me, almost out of the woods, when I find my voice. "Gale!" I shout after him. "Gale!"

He's gone.

The walk back to Johanna's house is treacherous. My head is throbbing—a product of last night's, and today's, activities. I'm sick to my stomach. The trail I'm hiking down is hardly visible due to the water in my eyes. I can just about deem my physical state equal to the dehydration I felt during my first couple of days in the arena. The sensation is almost one and the same.

Gale's words won't leave me alone. _You never loved me. Never really knew me at all, actually. Thanks for clearing that up. Now I don't have to wonder. You never loved me. Never really knew me at all. You never loved me. Never really knew me at all. _I keep humming his words inside my head as if they are lyrics to my favorite song. I try not to think about the truth behind them. Because as soon as I do, my skin starts to burn, and my hand, on impulse, goes straight to digging into the scar on my wrist. It was only a matter of time before I told him, I think to myself as I continue my journey back to Johanna's. Better sooner than later, right? I stop itching my scar long enough to reach behind my head and touch the spot where there's supposed to be no hair. Damp, knotty strands of silk sift through my fingers.

_When you killed Prim!_ The words are all wrong. I might as well have called him Coin, my sister's real murderer. Him. Gale. The boy whose hand played a large part in my survival during the toughest days in District 12. Not just my survival, but my helpless mother's- Prim's, too. The friend who kept me company throughout the loneliest periods of my life. The hunting partner who would make me happy when no one else could. The comrade who watched my back as I watched his. Is the same blood-lusting boy who inadvertently slaughtered my sister? I know, for the first time since the bomb went off, that I'm wrong. Gale's hands are clean. But mine aren't. The realization is a huge blow, breathtaking in a literal sense. So much so, that I need to sit down before I pass out. I find the nearest log, drop my things, and place my head in-between my knees until the dizziness passes.

_You never loved me. _I did! I still do.

_Never really knew me at all, actually. _I feel like screaming.

_Thanks for clearing that up._ I'm so selfish.

_Now I don't have to wonder. _I think I'm going crazy.

_Just say it! _This isn't how we were supposed to end up.

_When you killed Prim! _No, Gale. You didn't kill her. I did.

"Hey." Alarmed, I lift my head. But all I can see is the blurry outline of a small figure coming toward me. "Are you alright?"

I wipe the tears from my eyes. Adjust to the sunlight. Then try to tell my head to stop spinning long enough for me to see straight. After a moment, my vision clears.

The girl with the blood-red hair is standing above me.


	9. Chapter 9

You are ALL awesome. Thanks so much for the reviews! I love reading your thoughts and opinions. They're very important to me as a writer. This chapter is my personal favorite so far. I hope you like it just as much. Leave me some love ;)

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><p>Chapter 9<p>

"I'm fine," I confirm, mostly convincing myself and not her. I rise from the log and hope that she doesn't notice the red, puffy lines under my eyes, a suggestion that I'm not fine at all.

She's even prettier close up—the type of girl who could easily send your self-esteem plummeting into oblivion. Regardless of the creepy hair color, her beauty is unreasonably flawless, and it sickens me to the point of physical pain. Her blue eyes literally sparkle in the sun; she has perfectly chiseled cheek bones. Her lips are full and shielding a to-die-for smile. She's healthily thin with curves in all the right places. The poster child of good looks. More importantly, though, the female who undoubtedly shares a bed with Gale at night. Gale. The same boy who was just kissing my neck, telling me he loves me. That was before I called him a murderer, of course. But in her presence all I can seem to think about is how he would prefer to be with me.

But the thing is—I _did _accuse him of Prim's death. So whatever love he had for me before those unthinkable words came spattering out, it's surely gone now. This makes me wonder. What would _she _do in my position? Best friends with Gale until one, inescapable day when her name is pulled from a glass bowl, thus commencing the never-ending horror that is called the Hunger Games. Forced to keep an entire nation entertained with false declarations of love for a boy who she wasn't ever really supposed to like. All the while killing to stay alive so she can get back home to a depressed mother, starving sister, and missed friend. Only to endure and come back home to a new kind of fear—the fear of losing everything she fought so hard to keep. One thing leads to another and she's back in the arena, bloodying her hands some more. Not only does she survive her second round in the horrid dome, she becomes the Mockingjay—the face of a rebellion. Meanwhile, her friendship with Gale is falling apart, and the boy she went into the arena with is clinically insane and wants to her kill. THEN, the preordained bomb drops. Exterminating her sister and so many other innocent people. A bomb that was first fashioned by Gale. Would she still love him? Or would a part of her blame him? And would she ever tell him so? Or does it take a particular egotistic person to do and feel something like that? Someone like me.

"Are you sure?" Even her voice is striking, smooth like a lullaby. This makes me dislike her more. The fact that she's freakishly pretty, has a wicked shot supposedly, and upon hearing her voice something tells me she can sing, too, sends me over the edge. "You look pale."

"I always look pale," I tell her as I start to gather my things from the ground. I tie my hunting sack to my belt and fling my bow across my shoulder. Part of me needs this to look intimidating. Because as far as looks go, she definitely has the upper hand. I know I'm being silly, that I still have a lot to figure out when it comes to my feelings for Gale. And I don't need to add anymore emotions, such as petty jealously, to the mix. But the glint in her eye is excruciatingly hard to ignore. It's mocking me. Telling me that she's the true victor.

"Katniss, right?" Her eyes are all over me. Starting on my face, to the bow on my back, now on the hunting sack, ending with a glance at my damp braid, which is still dripping wet. I imagine she knows exactly where I've been. And who I was there with.

"What gave me away?" I ask while planning an escape route in my head. There's a certain sensation bubbling up in me, and it is a lot like the feeling I get before I slaughter my dinner. I need to get back to Johanna's before something radical happens.

"You could be Gale's twin," she comments. It rubs me the wrong way, expanding my desire to challenge her to a fight right here and now. "Have you seen him?"

So she knows about me or knows that Gale and I are friends or used to be friends. I wonder what else he's told her. Not that he would have had to tell her much. I am the Mockingjay, after all. The entire nation knows who I am. I'm not sure if that settles right with me. But I guess it has to.

"Haven't seen him," I lie for no particular reason.

Her eyes narrow as if to say she doesn't believe me. "I bet he's at the shooting range already."

I bet he's not, I want to say.

"Will you be accompanying us today?" She speaks with an Effie Trinket like tone, polite and well-kept.

"I don't think so," I say.

"That's unfortunate. I was looking forward to seeing you in action." Her glowing smile suggests something different. But what exactly? That she wants me to come so she can prove I'm not the better archer. That she's prettier than me, more capable in the field, _and_ has Gale? That she's the new and improved Katniss Everdeen? Like hell.

"Don't worry," I taunt. "I'm here all week."

I'm not the jealous type. I've taken a bite at it maybe once or twice, both times seemed to have gravitated toward Gale. But it was never like this, rock-solid and malevolent. Never made me want to do something drastically ignorant—like what I wanted to do now. Shoot an arrow straight through the outsized hoop earring hanging on her delicate ear. That would get her attention. Rattle her a bit. Send a message. One that says you don't want to mess with me.

It isn't until this very moment that I feel horrible for Gale. How hard it must have been to see me with Peeta. How tiring it must have been to compete with someone like him. Peeta—the easy-going charmer of a boy who is loved by everybody he come across. As where Gale is definitely a looker but not one to sit on the sidelines while everyone else plays the game. He was born to fight. Born to be a rebel. Born on fire. Gale and me—we're one in the same. So if I did decide to pull that earing stunt on Rose, he couldn't blame me. I'm pretty sure he's not going to talk to me again anyway.

"He calls your name in his sleep sometimes." Since introductions are out of the way, she no longer cares to beat around the bush.

The news sends a tremor of confidence down my back. And reminds me of the many times I've awoken from a nightmare, screaming Gale's name. Peeta would have this look on his face the mornings following nights like those. A tense look followed by a shadow of grief and tension.

Rose doesn't wear this look. On the contrary, actually. Her picture-perfect face is etched with amusement, manipulation, and ruthlessness. Unfortunately for her, I'm tremendously self-centered too.

She won't get a rise out of me.

"Katniss is a popular name," I offer simply.

"Sure it is," she agrees.

We glower at each other. The soldier in me says prepare for battle. I notice that I'm gripping my bow the way I do when I'm about to use it on something. Or someone. Neither of us moves an inch.

After a minute of this, she finally speaks. "Make sure you dress up extra fancy tonight. Gale says something special is going to happen."

"I'm all out of fancy clothes. But I'll try my best," I beam.

"I think he might propose."

The scar on my wrist is suddenly dying for a scratch.

"Any advice?" she asks pleasantly.

"Yeah, Gale hates to dress up. So you might be walking down the aisle to a groom wearing a dead turkey where the corsage is supposed to be," I say, all joking aside.

"I don't care if he's standing there naked," she smirks. "All I know is that I'll be spending the rest of my life with the smartest, most capable, best-looking man District one through twelve ever has had to offer. See you tonight."

The beautiful girl with the blood-red hair leaves me there, stunned.

She has indirectly answered the questions troubling me since I first thought them up.

If she were in my shoes, would she still love him? Yes.

Or would a part of her blame him? Never.

Her last words were a direct blow, meant only for me. She's telling me that I screwed up. I let go of the best thing I had in my life. And for what? Prim is still gone. Nothing will ever change that. My mother is recuperating in another district. I have Peeta and Haymitch. But their love is not the same as Prim's was, as my mother or father's was, or as Gale's _is_.

He's not going to propose.

I repeat this to myself over and over until I'm back at Johanna's.

"Hey, sweetheart," Haymitch greets me.

I'm surprised to see him awake—and coherent, no less. Though that won't last very long because I take note of the liquor bottle in his reach. He and Johanna are sitting at the kitchen table, playing a card game. Johanna takes a moment and glances over the edge of her cards. I wonder if she recalls falling asleep next to me last night. If maybe she woke up sometime before dawn, realized our closeness and welcomed it just as I did this morning. I won't know. Neither of us will ever mention it.

"Look what the cat drug in," she jokes. "You _almost _look better than the dead rat she brought me the other day."

I'm _almost_ sure she doesn't have a cat. "Can I talk to you?" I request, my voice shaky with desperation. "Alone." I glance at Haymitch and then quickly look away when his eyebrows rise in curiosity.

Hers rise in confusion. "What? Are we keeping secrets from Daddy now?"

"Damn it, Johanna, I'm serious." I toss my bag of dead animals on the floor. My bow and arrow, too.

I stomp down the hallway to Johanna's bedroom. I hear her footsteps follow a few seconds later. Tonight is my last chance to make things right with Gale. Get everything out on the table, where we can either sort through the mess, or throw it all away. I might as well get some advice beforehand. My chances of screwing everything up won't be as high if I at least have some sort of direction. Too bad the only person I trust here is categorically insane and is as ruthless as me, Rose, and Gale combined.

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><p>AN: Next chapter, 2nd night of the week-long Bobdoc festival. Will it be as exciting as the first? Or more so? We shall see ;)<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

Hey guys! First, thanks for keeping me on my toes. Second, thanks for all the wonderful reviews. Third, enjoy this next installment. Let me know whatcha think. And thanks again for reading.

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><p>Chapter 10<p>

I tell Johanna everything. Starting with my chaotic feelings for Gale, to the 'You killed Prim' incident, ending with my run in with Rose and the supposed proposal that's going to happen tonight. It's strange spilling my guts to her. But it feels good too. Easier than I thought it would be. It's like a weight the size of Panem has been lifted off my shoulders when I finish.

Johanna's solution is simple and expected. Kill Rose. And as much as my deranged side would love to do just that, I know it's not plausible. She does too apparently. Because she quickly suggest an alternative.

"You should just tell Gale how you feel before he does something stupid," Johanna advises. She's sitting on the edge of her bed while I perch at the window.

"That's the thing. I don't know how I feel," I complain.

"Sure you do," Johanna insists. "You're just being a big baby about it—a terrified infant straight from the nursery. Confused and misplaced with no tit to suck on."

I feel my eyes narrow. I should have known better. There is no lax side to this Victor. I don't reply at all. I just stare at her, irritated at the lack of empathy. I don't even care that her words are true to a certain degree.

I'm still trying to recover from her hard-hitting criticism when she apologizes.

"Sorry," she offers. "I'm not very good at this."

I shake my head. "I'm not either."

We share a quick laugh. Finally, we understand another.

"But _you _do know how you feel about Gale," she comments. "And _you_ are being a scared baby about it all. Let me tell you something, Katniss. Something about be me no one alive knows."

I nervously wait for her to continue.

"I wasn't always like the way I am today. Spiteful and deceptive. I was more like you, actually. Reserved, tough, but caring. I loved a lot of people and took joy in the little things. I had a family. My mom—she was so beautiful." There's a glint of bittersweet happiness in her eyes as she speaks. I'm touched by it. In fact, I'm finding that my heart is pounding rapidly in anticipation for her to carry on. "But I take after my Dad, and that's ok with me. He was strong and very skillful. He took care of us the best he could. I had an older brother." She chokes out the next part. "And a younger sister."

This information sends a wave of shock throughout my entire body, numbing me in the worst way.

"I was in love," she says quietly, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. She swiftly wipes them away. I don't see any more after that. "His name was Jiro Snaw. We went to school together. He was a complete stranger when he approached me one day after school and said I was the girl he was going to spend the rest of his life with. I thought he was nuts, of course." She snickers as if she suddenly recalls something hilarious. "I didn't give him the time of day. But he didn't give up so we eventually became friends. I fell for him at some point. I don't really know when. All I know is that I was scared of how I felt." She gives me a pointed look. "I never got to tell him. I was reaped shortly after my new found feelings. Ripped away from everybody I knew and loved and for what? To become a cold-blooded killer? The monster you saw in the arena, the one with the wicked ability to murder, was born because the Capitol saw to it. I didn't have a choice. I had family to get back to—a best friend that needed to know my true feelings."

She rises from the bed and comes to stand next to me at the window. We look out into the backwoods together, two victorious girls with blood-stained hands and nothing to show for it. She doesn't look at me as she continues her story. "I didn't win the Hunger Games. In fact, it's always been my thought that the people who died in there are the true Victors. They didn't have to live with the shadow of guilt, with the fear of losing _everybody _they love, with desperation for freedom from the Capitol and President Snow. I was alive but not living, you know?" It's a rhetorical question. She knows that I know exactly how that feels. "That's worse than death if you ask me."

Johanna is quiet for a long time. I want to say something but words have escaped me the way they always do in serious situations like these. "When I finally got back to District 7, Jiro was gone. Just disappeared into thin air. On the Victor's Tour, President Snow presented his devious plan to me. It was wickedly simple. Sell myself to those Capitol scumbags or watch more of the people I care about 'disappear'. I couldn't do it, Katniss." A stream of nervousness grows in her eyes. Finnick once revealed that President Snow killed them because she refused to be a pawn in his prostitution scheme. But hearing it from her, and in detail no less, makes it more real. "I couldn't let them do that to me. Not after everything I'd been through in the arena. So I said no." Tears threaten her again. "They were long gone by the time I returned home. My beautiful mother—my strong father—caring brother—innocent sister. And it was my fault entirely." She moves back to her bed, sits and drops her head. "I should have said yes. I should have just let them do whatever they wanted with me. There wasn't much left after the arena anyway. I should have told Jiro how I felt about him. He died without knowing the truth—that I was in love with him."

There are tears in my own eyes now. My body trembles with boundless anger, sympathy, regret and understanding. "You made the right choice not giving in to President Snow. Your family wouldn't have wanted that for you." It's all I can say. I always used to wonder why Johanna sometimes looks like she is continuously fighting with something. I thought it was post-traumatic stress from her days in the arena. I know the truth now. She blames herself for her family's murders.

"I didn't tell you about my life because I want you to feel sorry for me. So please wipe that look off your face and let's get one thing straight," she says sternly. "I told you this stuff because I care about you. I have for a long time. Since your berry stunt, actually. And don't go getting all emotional on me. I have an image to maintain." She comes to stand with me at the window again. I feel pretty stupid because I'm crying despite her plea for simplicity. But I can't stop, not after everything she's told me.

"I hate what happened to you, Katniss. You were forced to be something you never wanted to be. You lost your family," she says sadly. "But there's something you need to understand." She pauses. "Someone you love _survived_. Not many of us get to say that. So I'll tell you again, you should just tell Gale how you feel."

She pulls me into a quick, compulsory hug, and then jets for the door before I even have time to soak up her words.

"Wait!" I call after her.

She does.

"I need your help again."

Haymitch is passed out on the kitchen table by the time we emerge from the bedroom. Johanna and I exchange sly smirks as we approach him. I try to shake him awake. When that doesn't work, I go to the kitchen, fill a glass with water, and come back to pour it over his head. He jumps up immediately, showering me with insults while waving his hand around frantically. This looks funnier than usual because he's not actually holding a knife.

"I was really hoping you'd let me Taser him," Johanna mumbles as she starts to gather the playing cards that have somehow managed to scatter across the table.

"Time to go," I tell Haymitch.

He looks confused until I go on to mention the festival. "Already?" He searches the room for a clock but doesn't find one. I can't imagine why she would have any. After the surprise they had for us in the Quarter Quell and all. A ticking dome just waiting to cause great loss and destruction.

His eyes wonder back to me, and it's like he's really seeing me for the first time because he says, "Wow, sweetheart. You look," he pauses. "Just…wow."

I can't help but blush. I'm not used to such compliments from him. "Johanna is rather good at making unpleasant things likable." I peek at her through my heavily pampered eyes. She smirks, accepting the compliment but not without pun.

"We all know you need the help. God forbid you use a blow dryer," she says.

Johanna is in her uniform tonight. When I asked her about this, she told me that Gale instructed all the soldiers to wear them. I try not to think about why. Me, on the other hand, I did just as Rose instructed. _Make sure you dress up extra fancy tonight. Gale says something special is going to happen._

For someone who doesn't give the impression of caring about appearance, Johanna sure does have a lot of clothes—pretty clothes no less. Tonight I wear a white dress. The color is unusual for me, and because of that, I stand out. Its material is satin with sparkly sequins sewn in, the fit is tight, showing off some of the curves I didn't know I had, and it's slightly short, like a summer dress. My hair is in its usual braid and make-up is nude, nearly invisible but glowing all the same.

After a few minutes of pointless conversation, we start towards the square where I can already hear the distinct buzz of excitement, music, and fireworks. Johanna never mentions anything more about Gale. And I never offer my appreciation for everything she's told me about her life. There's a silent understanding between us. We like it better that way, I think. But as we near the party, I'm suddenly wishing we were in the confines of her own bedroom again, where the reality of it all isn't as scary. Because, right now, I'm nothing if not completely terrified.

Upon entering the square, I'm immediately recognized. People start to chant my name, I'm being patted on the back, and the compliments are far and wide. I'm a good sport, like usual. I stay at Johanna's side. She's the only one who knows how hard this is for me. And I need her near me as a reminder of what I'm supposed to do tonight. Tell Gale how I feel. Easier said than done. I'm still pretty sure I _don't_ know how I feel.

But I need to figure it out, and quick. Because we've just made it to the table of refreshments where Rose and he are standing. I feel Johanna tense up next to me. We pause; share a quick, knowing glance and approach the table as if we don't even see them there.

"Katniss! Johanna!" Rose greets us in a polite, upbeat tone. Gale stands next to her like a stone wall. Impregnable in every way. He doesn't look at me.

"Rose! Gale!" Johanna mimics her voice, mockingly so. "What a pleasant surprise." That, too, is sarcasm.

I should want to snicker at Johanna's cunningness, but all I can seem to think about is Gale's arm draped firmly over Rose's waist—the perfectly shaped waist which is covered by a stunning, black dress that sparkles in the moonlight just like mine.

"You look _fancy_ tonight, Katniss," Rose comments. The anger I feel is raw. I bite the inside of my cheek, drawing blood. Her smirk very nearly sends me over the edge of rationality. But I can practically feel Johanna telling me that I'm smarter than this vindictive beauty.

"I was told something special is supposed to happen tonight." I look at Gale when I say this. He meets my gaze, only for a second, and then he's looking into his glass of white wine. "I can't wait to see what the surprise is." I direct that at Rose.

"You and me both," Rose says pleasantly. "Can I get you a drink, Katniss?"

"Sure," I answer. She turns to prepare me a glass of red wine.

"So why are you quiet tonight, Commander?" Johanna asks Gale.

He shrugs and says, "Must be the company." Ouch. That was a direct hit to the gut. I guess couldn't blame him though. I did call him a murderer.

I'm planning a way to get him alone so I can apologize and _att_e_mpt _to share my feelings, when Rose turns back around with my drink. She reaches out to hand it to me then, out of nowhere, trips over nothing, and the red wine spills down my chest. It stains Johanna's beautiful, white dress. I barely have time to wrap my head around it when a raging storm of anger, white-hot and dangerous, streams through my blood, supplying my body with a burst of adrenaline I can't contain. In an instant, I'm leaping toward her.

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><p>AN: I can't recall if there were ever any in-depth descriptions of Johanna's family in Catching Fire or Mockingjay. So this was my attempt at creating a background for her. Aside from Gale and Katniss, she's my ultimate favorite character. Hope you enjoyed!<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

Happy Valentine's Day everybody! Thank you all so much for reading and thanks for the wonderful reviews. Please keep em' coming! I apologize in advance for the short chapter. The next one will be much longer. Promise. Despite that major setback, I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 11

My fist just connects with her nose when Johanna grabs hold of me and forces me away with great struggle. I fight to break free, all while screaming insults at Rose, who is as equally thrilled as she is stunned at my bold response to her devious stunt. She has her hand cupped around her nose, giving the blood that trickles out of it a place to go. Curiously, she's smirking, but Gale, on the other hand, looks angrier than I've ever seen him. He's standing in front of her now, arms out as if to protect her, an unwavering stance that sends one, simple message. You have to get through me first. I don't have time to analyze the situation any further because this gesture of his has sent me into a wide-ranging fit of hysteria. How could he choose her side?

Johanna has a secure grip on me and she's shouting, telling me to get a grip, or at the very least, stop thrashing around so violently. I finally do once we make it to the outskirts of the square, away from the buzzing crowd and music and Rose. She gives me a moment before jumping straight into a revenge scheme that we can quote on quote, "Make look like a painful accident." I want nothing more than to have Rose's head—silver platter and all. So it's hard to say no to Johanna's bold strategies, but I end up dismissing her wicked ideas after a minute's hesitation.

The fury I feel still boils my blood, hot, dangerous molten inflicting wounds upon an already damaged spirit. I tell Johanna I want to be alone. She leaves without asking me if I'm okay. And I'm so grateful. Because I'm not okay. I haven't been for a long, long time—not even close. I start towards Johanna's house, the joyful music, the chatter from the multitudes of people, the sounds of celebration dropping into a far-off background noise the closer I get. I can just see my destination when I hear someone shouting behind me.

"What the hell was that?" Gale is speed walking to catch up. He's clearly angry—cheeks reddened, hair messy, lips curled down in a scowl.

But there's no way he's as angry as me. "She did that on purpose!" I shout back.

We stop walking to face off—a battle long overdue.

"It was an accident," Gale spits.

"The accident was my not putting an arrow through her cold heart when I had the chance!" My rage is white-hot, blinding my right mind and bringing out the animal in me. "Are you going to propose to that witch?"

"What if I am?"

His answer knocks the breath out of me and I end up struggling with my reply.

"You…you…can't…m-m-marry her!"

"Why not?" he demands.

"Because!" I scream at him. "She's not right for you."

He snorts loudly. "You have some nerve, you know that?"

"I don't care!" There's an uproar in me that refuses to still. So I continue to yell. "You're just mad because it's the truth!"

"What makes you so sure?" he declares with an expression that almost makes me think twice about what I'm saying. Almost.

"All I know is that she is as vindictive and selfish as…as…"

"As who?" Gale barks. "You?"

I shudder at the possibility of that being true. "Don't turn this around on me," I say through gritted teeth.

"Why shouldn't I?" he demands. "If it's ok for you to do it…."

"It's not!" I cry. "It's not ok for me to do it!" _Someone you love survived._ "I'm sorry." _You should just tell Gale how you feel before he does something stupid. _"I'm so sorry, Gale. I was wrong. I never should have put Prim's death off on you like that." _I should have told Jiro how I felt about him. He died without knowing the truth—that I was in love with him. "_I miss you every day." I'm crying now. That, too, feels long overdue. "I want things to be how they were before the Hunger Games took me. I want, no, I _need_, to be your Catnip again."

Gale looks torn. To rush into my arms and cry with me. Or to hold a grudge because it's what I deserve. "That's not possible, Katniss," he finally says.

"Why not?" I ask urgently, not quite as convinced.

"You know why," he answers. After catching a glimpse of my blank expression, he goes on to explain. "Just—too much has happened."

"Nothing we can't come back from," I offer as I close the gap between us, leaving only an inch open for air. "We can at least try." I seal what's left of the space between us and cautiously reach for his hands. I lay my head on his chest and he allows me to place his strong arms around my waist.

We stand hugging, breathing calmly, our heartbeats pulsing as one for a really long time. I continue to weep, and he ultimately surrenders and decides to forgive me for everything. I can tell this because his hold has tightened around me; he's kissing my forehead, whispering reassuring things like, "We're going to try." Or "Don't worry. Everything will be okay again."

More time passes, allowing us a chance to relish in our newly found understanding. We will work towards being that boy and girl in the woods again, the ones who created a safe haven for themselves where the Capitol and the evils of the world could not touch them. It would be hard and awkward at moments, but a struggle worth fighting. In the end, we may even be more than just friends. I might eventually come to grips with myself and admit what's so tediously obvious. Until then, this hug will suit me just fine.

Gale is the one to pull away. When he does, I try to close the distance, but he gently takes my shoulders and holds me there. "I need to go back now."

"Why?" I ask, suddenly irritated. I know that he has to go to her. See if she's okay, if I've broken her nose, or worse, started an on-going battle that won't seize until one of us is seriously hurt. I can't help but think the odds are ever in my favor.

"Do you remember how to get to the cave I showed you today?" I nod slowly, still rather pissed he's leaving me to tend to the witch. "Meet me there tomorrow. Bring your bow."

He grazes my cheek before leaving; it burns the entire way home and then some.


	12. Chapter 12

Ah! I absolutely love all the feedback. Thanks for reading everyone. I truly delight in hearing what you think. This chapter was exciting to write. Enjoy!

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><p>Chapter 12<p>

The morning comes quick. I don't worry myself with recollections of the night before. That would only put me in a bad mood, and I am feeling rather chirpy today. So I instantly untangle myself from Johanna (we dozed off together for a second time) and slip into my hunting gear. In the living room, Haymitch is snoring; a knife rests loosely in his hand, there to protect him from an evil that threatens him even now, after the dangers of his Hunger Game has come and gone. I don't spend much time feeling sympathetic. Some people are just a lost cause. And who can blame them? Life isn't easy. I used to fit in with that hopeless group, stranded with nowhere else to go but down. And to be honest, a small part of me will always feel that way. But as time continues to pass, I'm becoming more and more tolerable of life and everything that comes with it—the good and the bad. I'm not completely healed, and never will be, but I can at least say there might be hope for me yet.

Thick, gray clouds cover the sky this morning, making high the odds of rain. I hope Mother Nature holds out long enough for Gale and me to meet and hunt, or do whatever it is he has planned for us today. It's hardly believable. The things we've struggled through in our relationship. But to have endured it all is the real surprise. Our uncontrollable way of pointing out what the other can't say, along with the fact that we're both still so intent on being near each other, is enough to convince me Gale is meant to be in my life. And I'm determined to keep him there this time. Regardless of his dreadful taste in women. Or _woman_, in this case.

This thought gets me to recognize how swollen my knuckles are. I use my uninjured hand to graze the tender knobs. Pain is suddenly there, sharp and unavoidable. There's no doubt in my mind now that her nose is broken. The assumption fills me with joy, closely trailed by guilt because it's possible the incident really was an accident. But I'm almost sure it wasn't. So I choose to trust my instincts, no longer feeling bad for inflicting such brutal mutilation upon her.

I'm quick to find the entrance to the water quarry. Even quicker to find a smile when I see who is waiting for me there. Gale is leaning against the rock wall, sporting a brown vest with a light green tee-shirt underneath, which shows off his muscles in way that makes my body tingle. He stands up straighter when he sees me, delighted by my appearance. I, too, am pleased.

"Hey, Catnip," he greets, smiling flawlessly, making it nearly impossible for me to breath. Because the genuineness in his voice is clear, and the realization that I'm getting my best friend back is more than just overwhelming; it's perfect.

"Hey." I return the smile, a gesture that speaks louder than any words could. I move to stand beside him. "I think it's going to rain."

"Let's hope it holds out," he says, and then his eyes wander to my bruised hand. Those thick eyebrows skew up as his face distorts into an unreadable expression. I'm quick to figure it out though—guilt. I know this because I've worn that same face. A lot. Whether the guilt-redden look is for Rose or me, I do not know. But, I'm not the one with the broken nose, so I assume it's the red-head he feels bad for.

"It's fine," I tell him as I tug on my jacket sleeve to conceal my engorged limbs. He doesn't buy it though, because he reaches out to further examine the damage. I reluctantly let him take my battered hand.

"Your ring finger looks broken," he comments, observing the wound with great attentiveness.

I shrug and say, "Nothing time won't heal."

"Looks like you won't be hunting today." I hadn't considered this, but it wasn't until just recently I even noticed the severity of my incapacitated hand. He let's go of my wrist and then turns to grab a fist full of emerald green vines, revealing the hole that will lead us to the water quarry. "How about a picnic instead then?" he suggests.

I take note of the protruding rucksack fastened securely on his shoulders. I nod my approval. He smiles gratefully before disappearing into the cave. I'm quick to follow, knowing I'll need to grab onto him if I want to make it through this cavity without tripping all over the place.

We're half-way there when I gather enough courage to ask what I've been dying to know for sure. "So…" I begin, "is her nose okay?"

I feel him tense—a muscle spasm brought on by my incapability to be thoughtful of other people's feelings. "Do you care?" he questions seriously.

"Not in the least bit," I answer. Best to just go with the truth, especially since he already knows it. "I'm curious, that's all."

"Of course you are," Gale mumbles. Then he's silent until light breaks through. I put some space in-between us now that I can see, and he goes on to answer my question. "Rose's dad is taking her to a Healer today. But we're pretty sure it's broken."

That same joyful feeling runs the length of my body again. But I try not to let it reflect on my face, because we're stepping onto the rock platform, where the light can expose what the darkness keeps hidden.

Not that it matters much. He's still somehow able to predict my mood, whether I let it show or not. "Don't pretend like you're not happy about it," he says.

I'm smiling once more, and this time it's not because I'm happy I crushed the witch's nose. Gale has just proven why we're here, trying, forgiving past mistakes, and putting something that was torn apart, back together again. He knows too much about me. More than anybody ever has and ever will.

"Would you believe me if I told you I'm happy about something else?" I say matter-of-factly.

He studies my eyes, intensely so, until he comes up with a response. "No..." he starts, "probably not." This is followed by a swaggering grin.

"I didn't think so," I murmur before brushing past him. Gale falls into step beside me shortly after.

Even without the sun shining, his secrete place is beautiful. The green blades of grass are healthy, not shriveled-up brown like back home. It's soft even. Or I imagine it is. With that thought, I'm taking off my boots, careful to remember to use my uninjured hand.

"What are you doing?" Gale asks.

"The grass looks soft," I tell him, and I'm right. Like silk between my toes.

Looking up through my thick lashes, I can see him shaking his head, chuckling as he does so. I shrug and continue to appreciate the scenery. The vast body of water, surrounded by walls of tall rock, is a few yards away, sparkling even though it's starved of the sun. I'm unexpectedly hit with the memory of what happened between Gale and me in that water. As spontaneously as the thought came, my skin is on fire, because I can still feel his lips brushing lightly over my skin, and I'm suddenly thirsting for them. I stop walking to look at him.

It's not surprise that a girl as beautiful as Rose would love Gale. What is a wonder, though, is why he'd love me.

He's almost too perfect looking. Camera-ready, my prep team once called him. Olive skin that smells like campfire and oranges. Tall and muscular enough to be intimidating, but moderately gentle in addition to that. Soft lips. Thick, black hair and intense grey eyes. And so crafty with his hands, which makes me wonder….

"Katniss?" Gale calls my name curiously.

"I think this is a good spot," I say, quick to escape any awkward tension. But not smooth enough to hide the reminisce of a blush.

"Sure," he agrees, but my passionate stare definitely doesn't go unnoticed, and I can tell it is killing him not to ask what it means.

What does it mean exactly? More importantly, why is it always so difficult to decipher my feelings for this boy? With Peeta, it's easy. I know where we stand, how I feel when we're together, and what I want from him. But when it comes to Gale, if I have to be brutally honest with myself, I'm downright terrified of what could happen. A long time ago, before the Quarter Quell, when we were planning to run away together, I told him I couldn't think about being romantically involved with him. Because all I had time to focus on back then was staying alive, keeping him and his family and my family and Peeta alive, too.

Well, the war is over, Panem is a free country; President Snow is dead; my mother's in another District and Prim is gone. Peeta is content with life in District 12. That leaves Gale and me. Is he happy here in District 2 with Rose? Can I relax? Or will I forever be haunted by the fact that I once agreed we would try to see if love is possible for me.

Gale has gone to work, pulling things out of his backpack. A blanket, two loafs of bread, some cheese spread, wild berries, and turkey meat—probably from the one we both shot at yesterday morning. I watch him until he glances up at me. "What? You've never seen a real hunter feast before?" This is my invitation to stop being a weirdo and sit down. I lower myself onto the blanket he's laid on the ground, discarding my bow and quiver and hunting sack to the side.

We eat in comfortable silence. Gale thinking about what I'm thinking. Me thinking about what he's thinking. When both our stomachs are satisfied, and the leftovers are put up, I spread out on the blanket. Gale follows suit. So we end up lying flat on our backs, only a few inches to separate us, looking up at the cloudy sky that suggests a thunderstorm is coming soon.

After a long period of silence, I'm ready to talk. "How did you meet Rose?"

The question catches him off-guard. But he's quick at adapting to unexpected situations. I guess that's why he's a Commander, important even after the war, while I'm just a burnout movie star. "I met her a month after I moved here," he tells me. "She's the mayor's daughter, and I was working closely with him, helping reform the District's regime."

The news throws me for a loop. _The mayor's daughter_, I repeat in my head. "She's the mayor's daughter?"

"Don't worry," he assures me. "I talked to him. They're not kicking you out. At least not yet."

I snicker carelessly. "Thanks for the heads up. I guess that means I'll have to be on my best behavior now. So how long have you been together?"

"I don't know." He shrugs. "Six months, I guess."

A series of heartbeats pass before I ask, "Are you happy with her?"

Gale sits up and maneuvers himself so that all I can see is his face. I feel myself shudder under his observant eyes. "Why are you asking me all these questions, Katniss?"

"Just making conversation," I answer quietly.

He sighs noisily and says, "I hate when you do that."

"Do what?" I ask seriously.

"Lie to me," he explains. "When I ask you a question, I expect a truthful answer. Because friends don't lie to each other."

"I'm not lying!" I'm fast to sit up, almost butting heads with him as I do.

"But you're not telling the whole truth either."

"You didn't ask me for the whole truth," I argue. "Besides, I don't have to share everything with you. I'd like to keep some thought to myself, you know."

"Well, if I were to ask you," he beings. "Katniss, why are you _really_ asking me all these questions?" He pauses. "Would you tell me?"

We're facing each other, just an arm's reach away. There's a hopeful glint in his eyes that helps me come to a decision. I rise to my knees and gradually close the distance between us. Thunder claps above our heads. My chest heaves up and down against his because I'm breathing heavily, nervous but unquestionably certain that I need to do this. Just as I place my unscathed hand on his cheek, the rain starts.

"I'm asking because I need to know if you're truely happy!" I shout over the downpour. "Because if you're not..." I trial off. His eyes don't leave mine. Another clap of thunder roars. Neither of us care that we're getting drinched. "Before you heard news of the rebellion, we were going to run away. And you said we would find out if we could have a life together outside of the Seam. Remember? Well! I'm ready to find out." And then I'm kissing him desperately.

But he's not kissing me back.

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><p>AN: Hmm, any ideas on what's going on inside that beautiful mind of his? I'd love to hear your thoughts! Next chapter, another KatnissRose run-in. Stay tuned.


	13. Chapter 13

Hello everybody! Thanks a ton for the great reviews. Like always, I enjoy reading your thoughts and concerns. I told a little fib. I said there would be a Rose/Katniss run-in in this chapter, but I decided to move it to the next chapter. I won't be able to update until late Tuesday or maybe Wednesday, so I wanted to go ahead and leave you with this. It's a little short, but I hope you like! Also, just a heads up, the rating kind of changes in this chapter. Let's rate it…M…for Mature.

Chapter 13

My lips move against his mouth, desperate for attention, but he doesn't indulge them. Instead, he takes my shoulders and forces me to stop and look at him. Rain trickles down his face, his expression somber. I want to demand what the problem is—why he's ruining my moment of clarity. "We can't," he says sullenly.

"Yes, we can," I insist, and then I try to close the gap he's put between us. But he stops me again, his hands sliding down to rest on my waist. We're completely soaked, weighed down by heavy clothes and mixed feelings. His green tee-shirt is sticking to his body, the once opaque material now transparent, so I'm able to see the definition in his muscly chest. I focus on his frame for only a second, because in the next instant, I'm unbearably aware of something. He is turning me down. It stuns me, and therefore, I'm retreating, wondering how this can be. He told me only yesterday that he loved me. "Did you change your mind?" I ask in a sad voice, clearly hurt by his rejection.

Something in my face causes him to look down. The discomfort, maybe? Or perhaps he can't bear to look at me as he tells me why he doesn't want me like that anymore. Is it because of Rose? The answer to that question, and the one that put us in this situation in the first place, seems obvious. Gale is _more_ than content with her and with his new life in District 2. He's been here for a year, hasn't he? Never even bothered to visit his old stomping grounds.

That can only mean one thing; he's genuinely _happy _here_. _Selfishly, it's exactly what I was afraid of.

One of the reasons, if not the only, I took a giant leap and reached out to him, is because if Gale is happy, it's supposed to be with me, in the woods of District 12, away from all the nonsense, away from District 2 and even further away from the girl with the blood-red hair.

Misery embraces me like a long, lost friend. Oddly enough, I'm comfortable simmering in its existence, because what am I if not totally unfortunate? This is the final straw for me. I know now that I'm meant to live this life alone. It's me and no-one else. And that suits me just fine.

I'm growing bitter when Gale raises his hand to my cheek. He runs his fingers lightly over my skin, causing my heart to throb sporadically. I tell it to stop, angry at my body for allowing such a thing to happen.

"I didn't' change my mind," he says with a gaze that reflects the truth. I feel myself relax, but then I'm immediately cursing myself for giving into him so easily.

"Then what is it?" There are two storms ragging and both are getting worse. One is all around me, natural surroundings in its calamitous utmost. The other is inside me, causing a swell of emotion that I can't side with. I wait for his reply, thinking there's nothing he can possibly say that will be worse than his denying me.

"Rose might be pregnant."

Okay. So maybe there is.

I don't say anything as I stand up. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't, because words have escaped me. I start to gather my sopping wet belongings, my tears mixing in with the rain. Good thing, too. I'd hate for him to see how weak I am—and how his news has killed a part of me.

Still on his knees, Gale reaches for my uninjured hand and makes me look at him, compelling me to hear him out.

"It's not a sure thing," he says hopefully, but somewhere between the lines in his frown and the unhappy glint in his eyes, I know it is.

"It might as well be," I say angrily, glancing down at him with a look of revulsion.

Gale releases me and stands up. "You can't exactly be mad about this, Katniss."

He's right, of course. But it doesn't stop me from being just that. "We should probably head back now. The storm is getting worse."

I'm practically running for the cave that will take me back to the woods—away from this sodden place, but more notably, away from him and thoughts of his demon child. I don't know what defeats me more. The fact that any chance of us having a life together is completely shot now. Or the fact that it's my fault completely. Because I'm the one who pointed the weapon and fired. Another entity I can't escape is the idea of how their baby came to be. Gale kissing her, touching her, moving inside of her, creating a connection with her that I'll never have with him; it's more than I can bear.

As the image takes hold of me, clutching my heart with a death grip, I feel myself losing every bit of self-control I do have. Just as I reach the hole in the rock wall, I turn abruptly, knowing he's on my heels. In an instant, I'm throwing myself into him, pulling his face down so our lips can meet. When they do, he doesn't withdraw this time. Instead he meets me with just as much enthusiasm, deepening the kiss while his hands wander urgently from my face, down to my waist, where he stops for a quick squeeze before continuing down. I moan into his mouth when he takes hold of my bottom and lifts me up so that I'm off the ground completely.

Soon after, I feel my back hit something hard. He's hoisting me against the rock wall now, his lips escaping mine, but only for a moment to kiss up and down my chest. I'm holding onto him for dear life, my body twitching with desire and fear and affection for this hunter assaulting my neck.

Since he's soaking wet, it's hard to get his shirt off, but I succeed and fortunately so, because the sight of his bare chest sends me up to cloud nine. But the feeling is nothing compared to how it feels when his strong hands find my breasts, kneading them gently, after he's ridded me of my shirt and bra. I half-sigh, half- exasperate from the shock of his touch. The arousal I feel is foreign to me, but it feels more than good, so I embrace it like its second nature.

I'm hesitant to break our lip lock, scared the reality of what we're doing will set in and he'll retreat. "Gale." But my desire for him overpowers the likelihood of that happening. "I want you inside of me."

My fear comes to life. He immediately withdraws, his expression foggy, like he's confused as to how we got here. I'm sliding down his body, landing on feet, because he's let me go and backed away. "What are we doing, Catnip?" he asks seriously.

I cross my hands over my chest, suddenly feeling very naked. "I thought it was obvious," I say.

"Yeah, but why are you doing it?"

_I'm doing it because she can't have that part of you._ Not when it supposed to have belonged to me; it has always belonged to me. "I thought that was obvious, too."

He chuckles lightly, bending down to pick up my shirt. He hands it to me and then reaches for his own. "How about we work on our friendship first," he suggests. "Then we'll see where it takes us."

"We've been seeing 'where it takes us' for years now," I dispute.

The piece of information he shared with me before our fervent affair started, creeps up, suffocating me like before._ Rose might be pregnant. _"I guess it doesn't matter anymore anyway. We're a lost cause—me and you. We always have been."

I think he agrees, because he doesn't say anything to suggest otherwise.

"So I suppose we don't have any other choice. We'll be friends," I say. "We'll always be friends."

By the time we make it out of the woods, it's stopped raining. But we're still soaking wet, and it's actually kind of chilly out, so I start to shiver, desperate for the sun. Or a hot shower.

Gale, who hasn't said much since leaving the quarry, notices. "My place is a lot closer than Johanna's. And it looks like you could use a hot shower now."

I agree.

He's right. His house is a lot closer. He lives in a small bungalow located literally on the edge of the woods, positioned between two large pine trees.

I forget to ask him if Rose lives with him. And it's too late to turn around when I find out.


	14. Chapter 14

First, let me start off with BIGGEST apology I've ever given. Since Chapter 13, my personal life was turned upside down and it took me awhile to get things together. I don't normally leave a story unfinished, so here I am…with a new Chapter. Hope you enjoy and again, I'm very sorry for the long wait. More to follow….hopefully tomorrow. I no longer have internet access at home so it may be difficult to update every day, but I will do my best. Also, thanks for continuing to read and for the wonderful reviews. I truly appreciate your responsiveness.

Chapter 14

Rose is napping on Gale's couch when we come through the door. My anger is instantaneous, a red-hot, blistering twinge that just about convinces me I'm on fire. All I want to do is yell at him, ask what could have possibly made him think this was a good idea. But when I go on to describe my discomfort, I'm considerably poised. "I think I'm going to go," I tell him.

Gale, who looks rather surprised himself, replies, "I didn't know she was going to be here." We exchange a sharpe look before he innocently utters, "I swear. She was supposed to be gone all day." He sighs after my harsh gaze doesn't let up. "She's asleep anyway. Come on, just, I'll give you some dry clothes. Then you can leave. Ok?"

The only reason I agree is because I _am_ somewhat uncomfortable in my damp clothes and Johanna's house is a bit of a walk. I follow Gale through a dim-lit hallway that leads us to a respectably sized bedroom. It's a mansion in comparison to his last two bedrooms, both of which were shared with two younger brothers.

There isn't much to see. He has a bed, a night stand, a hunting chest where I'm sure a cargo of weaponry lay hidden, and a small T.V. that doesn't look like it's been turned on once. All in all, it feels like it could be a relaxing abode, and if it weren't for the additional company, I'd feel almost peaceful here.

I watch Gale walk to the closest, pulling his shirt off as he goes, replacing it with a clean, dry one moments later. He swindles through the hangers and comes across an old, gray pull-over with pockets in the front and a hood. He takes it off the hanger and throws it to me.

I'm slightly nervous to change in front of him, giving the circumstances, so I turn and quickly replace my damp shirt with his. It smells like him. And I'm not sure if that sits well with me. I'll already be thinking about him. I don't need another reminder. I make a mental note to discard the garment as soon as I'm back at Johanna's. Burry it deep in my luggage or just toss it.

"Does she live with you?" I ask when I notice the disturbed spot in his bed—the one which indicates he didn't wake up alone this morning. The thought makes my heart drop into my stomach, causing a bitter swell of coldness. It's not as hard to swallow when paralleled with the feelings of sorrow and regret that threaten me right after.

"No," he answers. "She's just here a lot."

That doesn't make me feel any better. "Oh," I murmur, my unease so thick and apparent Gale could cut it with his boot knife.

He doesn't comment any further. Instead, he throws me some trousers and a belt. Once I'm dressed, I take my wet clothes and stick them in my empty hunting sack, glad there's nothing keeping me here anymore.

Gale, seeing my desperate need for an escape, says, "Make sure you put some ice on those knuckles."

I nod once and try to keep our eye contact to a bare minimum. "I'll try to remember to do that."

I offer him an awkward wave and go for the door, dragging my anxiety with me the entire way out. When I walk into the living room, Rose is awake, looking immaculately beautiful, even with a swollen nose. She looks surprised to see me but is quick to hide the rage my being there has caused. I catch only a glimpse of the fire in her eyes, but it's enough to encourage me. I get to her and it makes me feel undefeated.

In the silence that neighbors our stare-off, I can hear three things—a shower turning on, a series of heartbeats, both hers and mine, and the hasty tick-tock of a nearby clock—and for a moment, I'm back in the Quarter Quell, facing an opponent, wondering when our time is going to run out and who it's there for.

"You have a wicked right hook, _Catnip_," she says slyly.

I respond coolly. "And you're pretty clumsy for a girl who looks so graceful."

"There are some things they can't teach you in etiquette school."

Yeah, like how to be a scheming bitch, I want to say, but instead, I keep a level head, ignore her recent comment and walk toward the door. My hand barely grazes the handle when she asks for my attention again.

"You should know something." When I look at her, I don't see an attractive woman or a jealous girlfriend, I see a deadly enemy who wants my head. "I will do _anything _for Gale."

My reply is simple. "So will I."

I'm trying to make sense of the day's events when I get back to Johanna's. Gale. Baby. Devil. Forbidden kisses and sacred places being grazed. It was all too much. Really, all I want to do is slip into bed and forget everything, but Johanna and Haymitch see to it that that doesn't happen. They bombard me before I even drop my hunting sack.

"Where have you been?" Haymitch slurs.

"You look like a wet rat," Johanna comments. "Been swimming in the sewers again?"

I ignore both of them and go to the couch, where I throw myself down and close my eyes. Gale's face greets me right away. He's smiling a crooked smile and the image makes my heart throb. I open my eyes, angry he's getting to me like this. Since when did Gale Hawthorne affect Katniss Everdeen in such a deep way? Since you finally admitted to yourself that you love him, something in the back of my mind reminds me. But I just tell that voice to shut up because there's no point anymore. Why should I still love him? He didn't want me anymore. He wanted Rose—the neat-as- a-new-pin beauty—the secretly-I'm-the-devil woman.

She was having his baby. The thought alone made my stomach turn. My skin crawl. My head spin. My heart ache. All of it combined had me running for the bathroom. I needed to get sick. I wanted to get sick. Maybe then I'd feel a little better. But nothing came up and it wasn't a surprise. But I stayed hugging the toilet… just in case.

After thirty minutes of Johanna banging on the door, I slump out of the bathroom.

"What the hell's wrong with you, Katass?" Johanna has her eyebrows raised at me, suspicious. "You didn't hit the bottle again, did you?"

I throw her a sharp look. "No," I say defensively and move past her. "I just don't feel good."

She follows me into the living room. "Excuse me for being worried."

I'm about to deal a sly remark when I hear my name. I look around, searching for my guest. But no person greets me. My eyes wander to the small television set in front of Johanna's couch. Haytmich is sitting there, starring at the screen the best he can, but his eyes are crossing in his attempt. There's a bottle in his hand.

_Katniss Everdeen—the girl who's still on fire. _

The channel is tuned in on the '_Bodoc's Happenings'_, a segment full of highlights of the recent celebratory nights. A short video clip of my recent rendezvous with Rose flashes on the screen. I see my fist hit her square in the nose. Then the camera angles in on me. I'm screaming my head off as Johanna drags me away. I don't recall what I said in those last few moments of pure rage. What I do know is that Rose and Gale are probably watching this right now, Rose fighting the embarrassment, Gale fighting a head shake and smirk.

"Trading in your quiver for boxing gloves?" Haymitch speaks after the clip replays in slow motion. "You do realize this festival is about peace and unity? The war is over."

"The War has just begun," I whisper to Johanna, who is standing next to me, grinning after hearing and understanding my comment.

"She's the Mayor's daughter. This makes you look bad."

I let out a long, exasperated breathe. "She _purposely _spilt red wine down my dress," I argue.

"You don't know that for sure." Haymitch looks at me with judging eyes. "You just can't stand not having any peace in your life, can you, Katniss? Always have to have some sort of trouble going on."

His words hit me hard. I don't know if it's because there's some truth behind them or if I'm just having a bad day and everything is infuriating. "Your bottle is half-full," I point out. "You need to drink up and stop pretending like you give a damn about anything but getting plastered." I glance at the screen again before stalking down the hallway, irritated at Haymitch who tends to act like Dad at the most inopportune times.

Johanna doesn't follow me like she normally would. I imagine it's because she doesn't want to catch my wrath like Haymitch just did. I should feel bad for being so cruel to him, but I don't. I don't care about anything right now. I slam the bedroom door like a short-tempered, hormonal teenager and fall onto Johanna's soft mattress. I just want to slip into a coma and maybe there, lost in oblivion, I can find Prim and Rue and my Dad and the future Gale and I could have had together. Unfortunately, fate is too greedy and the only thing I find is a short nap that is disturbed before it even really began.

"Time to get up!" Johanna is at the foot of her bed. "The festival is about to begin."

"Go. Away." I mumble into the covers.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Almost as naturally as opening my eyes, something in me snaps. I violently jolt up into a sitting position, hair tangled, eyes wild. The scar on my wrist is burning like never before and if President Snow or Coin or Rose, or all three, were there, I'd joyfully kill each of them dead….with my bare hands. It's hard to breath. I can literally feel my skin peeling from a fire that's invisible to everyone but me. _My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm eighteen-years-old and I'm a murderer. _

"I…I…I'm…not g…g…going tonight," I can barely get the words out.

Johanna is shocked by my recent personality change at first. But she quickly waves it off and accepts my transformation. She vanishes for a second and then reappears with a glass of water. I take it from her and gulp it down. Moments pass before I feel somewhat normal again.

"You're not the only crazy one around here you know," she informs me.

"I'm still not going tonight," I tell her.

"Well, if you insist on staying here and cocooning yourself into a big ball of torment and misery, be my guest; just don't off yourself while I'm gone." She makes it to the door. "Seriously, don't do anything stupid. I have, unfortunately, grown fond of your beady little eyes and that stupid braid you sport all the time."

The next thing I say comes almost too easy. "I love you too, Johanna."

"Oh God," she says as she rolls her eyes. But there's a flicker of content in her expression and I take it as her way of saying she loves me too.

The woods of District 12 are the greenest they've ever been, a mixture of emerald, avocado, and jade. The leaves on the trees look brighter and healthier; the ground is in fine fertile, none of that scorched brown mess crunching beneath your boots. The birds sing louder and the sun shines through the open-spaced branches. It's warm enough to leave your jacket at home but not so hot you're parched within seconds. I'm admiring my newly vamped woodlands when I notice something in the distance—a small figure running zigzags through the outlying trees. I'm compelled to follow who or whatever it is.

It doesn't take me long to catch up with the….little girl. She's skipping gracefully through the vegetation, heading towards the lake only Gale and I know about. The yellow dress she wears is elegant and lacy—something straight from The Capitol. Her brown hair is long and flowing, almost past the middle of her back; it's ornamented with yellow dandelions. She's small like Prim but walks with a swaggering strut that yells self-confidence.

"Who are you?" I ask when step up beside her.

She looks up at me with familiar coal, grey eyes. "There you are!" she exclaims as she takes my hand. "You're late."

"Late for what?"

She just giggles and turns from me. Our hands are still linked, so I let her drag me deeper and deeper into the woods. I'm watching the little girl with a firm stare. I can't take my eyes off of her for fear that she'll disappear the moment I look away. There's something about her—something that makes me feel like I should _never _let go of her hand. The more I watch her, the more I feel bound to her. I love her. But it's a love I've never felt before—not for Prim, not for my Dad or my mother, nor anyone else in the world.

I almost stumble over a tree root when I see where she's brought me—and who's waiting for us there. Gale stands at the edge of the lake wearing a black tuxedo. In that instant, I notice that I'm wearing a stunning white dress. I look down at the little girl whose hand I can't let go.

"Come on!" she says excitedly. "Daddy's waiting!"

I follow her until we're standing in front of Gale. He's smiling his cocky smirk; it only distracts me for a moment, and then I'm completely absorbed by how handsome he looks in the tux and how much….I love him?

"You look beautiful," he whispers as he reaches out his hand, willing me to take it. When our fingers unite, he pulls me close. I shudder blissfully when I feel his arm slip around my waist. "Come see how beautiful you look." He turns us toward the sparkling water. "Go on," he encourages. "Take a look."

I hesitate for a moment, terrified to look away from the little girl and Gale. "Go on," I hear Gale say again.

Against my better judgment, I look into the water and instantly let out a petrified cry. I'm beautiful; I'm immaculately flawless; I'm the girl with the blood-red hair.


	15. Chapter 15

Thank you for all the reviews. I really appreciate your patients and continued interest in this story. Once again, I apologize for the long wait. I hope you enjoy this next Chapter. Don't forget to leave me some love. Also, in the last Chapter, Katniss was having a nightmare about Gale and Rose...Enjoy : )

Chapter 15

I wake up screaming. Sweat trickles down my forehead and mixes with the tears on my cheeks. Images from the nightmare haunt me—Gale and how handsome he looked in his tux, the little girl who I'll love forever even though she is just a figment of my imagination and always will be. I've been through the Hunger Games, escaped the Quarter Quell, and was the face of a rebellion which ended many lives, including my only sister's. I'm used to nightmares. So why is it hard for me to breathe right now? Why do I get a feeling I'm never going to forget this one the way I have all the others? I don't have time to consider the questions because someone is knocking on Johanna's front door.

I don't get out of bed, even when the knocking gets brasher and more concentrated. By the fourth strike, I decided that whoever my guest is…they aren't going anywhere. I speed walk through the hallway, aggravated and ready to unleash fury on the person waiting outside. I hurl the door open, roughly so.

My stomach twists into a thousand knots before going completely numb. Gale is standing on the porch, grinning, arms crossed in a customarily proud fashion.

"You could sleep through a war," he jokes.

"What are you doing here?" I ask coolly even though my heart is beating a thousand paces per second and could quite possibly burst out of my chest at any moment.

Gale shrugs. "I thought we might share each other's company while you're here," he explains. "I figure we might as well since you only have two days left."

"Does your girlfriend know you're here?" I ask and it makes me feel weak. Because I can't control the jealous feelings running rampant inside me even if I tell myself I can.

Gale doesn't answer. He just gives me a pointed look that defeats me in every way possible. I move aside and he steps in, satisfied.

I expect him to ask why I'm not at the festival. But he doesn't and that's when I remember Gale knows me better than anyone dead or alive. He doesn't need to ask.

"So this is Johanna's place." Gale glances around the living room.

"What?" I say. "Where you expecting something different?"

"Yeah, I was kind of expecting her to…." Gale chuckles as he shakes his head. "Never mind."

"Have dead Capitol folks hanging from the ceiling?" I offer.

"Something like that," he grins.

I smile too. And it feels nice.

"You hungry?" Gale asks after a moment.

"I suppose," I say.

I'm starving really, and oddly enough, the sensation makes me feel more like myself than ever before.

"Good….because I brought dinner." He deals a crooked grin and reveals his knapsack, holding it in the air to show it off, like something valuable is inside. I'm curious, naturally, but that feeling is quickly replaced by disbelief when he empties the contents on the kitchen table. I catch a long, overdrawn but silent breath. Tears threaten to spill over my eyes, but I bit my lip and refuse them, careful to keep my overly sensitive reaction to his 'dinner' hidden. Which gets harder to do when he picks up a wild berry and displays it between his thumb and pointer finger, fully expecting me to know what's about to happen.

"And may the odds…"

The berry ascends.

"B-e ev-r...n…y-ur… f-v-or." Tangy berry juice burst on the insides of my cheeks, making it hard to speak, as I bite into the sweet fruit.

Along with the handful of berries, he has brought bread, cheese, and basil. I take a seat at the dinner table and pick up the loaf of bread; Gale hands me a knife. I cut into it, still touched by all of this; the symbolism behind his dinner astonishing. I thought it beyond him to even remember something so trivial.

Three years ago, he and I sat in a forbidden meadow and shared what we thought would be our finale meal together—a meal that consisted of bread, cheese, basil, and berries. Because, honestly, the odds were never in our favor, not with how many times we had our names put in that glass ball.

Back then we were just two teenagers trying to survive during an impossible era of time. Now I look at us and see two severely damaged adults, one more so than the other. But despite the fact that I'm crazier than he is, and whether or not we both have separate lives now, something remains the same between us….we still have a need to be loved by each other. I realize now my love for Gale has always been there, even on that awful reaping day three years ago, even after the bombs went off and killed my only sister, and even now. I remember my recent dream and what it felt like to see him in that tuxedo. What I knew it meant.

On impulse, I stop fixing cheese and basil sandwiches and look at him. "I love you," I tell him.

He stops eating mid-bit and gulps, shocked by my recent declaration. Besides that, he's unmoving, frozen by the bombshell I just dropped on him. At first, he doesn't say or do anything; he just stares at me, unsure of who I am and what I've done with Katniss Everdeen. When the shock of my confession depresses, he finally says, "I love you too."

I'm overjoyed by his reciprocated feelings, so much so I'm out of my chair and kissing him. Surprisingly, he doesn't pull back or push me away. Instead, our kiss grows more passionate, and when he pulls me on top of him, I don't hesitate to deepen it. I've never been so intimately close to a man before, and the newly discovered sensation leaves my head spinning. I shudder delightedly when his hands venture under my shirt and slip slowly, seductively, up to my breast. He pauses for a moment, unsure, but I let him know its ok by moaning into his mouth. Gently, he slips his hand under my bra. The sensation has me spinning, and I find myself grinding against him as his hands continue to work my breasts. I whimper into his mouth when his bulge meets my sensitive, and very wet, spot. Our kisses are becoming messier, and I'm riding him harder and harder, overcome with desire and hunger for something more. He takes hold of my waist, controlling the way I move on top of him, and that's when I decide I can't take it anymore. I drag my hands down his chest until I feel the hem of his pants. I'm nervous since I know what's about to happen. But there's nobody else I'd rather give that special piece of myself to so I try to relax and focus on the task at hand. I'm just about to unfasten his trousers when reality sinks in, and Gale pulls back.

"Katniss," he whispers. "You know I can't." He hands drop down to my waist.

"Yeah, I know." I fall off his lap and settle back in my own chair, defeated. Silence bowls us over, and we're stuck trying to figure out how to sidestep what just happened and drop back into the same old mind-numbing routine—he pretends I didn't just throw myself at him; I act like his rejection doesn't hurt, and neither of us mention it again; it's absolutely tiring. "Why do you like her so much?" Generally, I wouldn't ask such a delicate question, one I particularly don't even want the answer to, but I'm feeling unconfined and, quite frankly, there's nothing he can say that will make me reconsider my opinion—that she's not the right girl for him. "I mean, other than the fact that she's beautiful."

He shrugs and focuses his attention on the kitchen table. "I don't know," he finally says. "There's just something about her."

At that, my heart sinks. The feeling is nauseating, and I'm angry at myself for giving him the opportunity to cause me such discomfort. "Oh," I say as I try to fight the urge to throw something blunt at his head. Fortunately for him, and his skull, I decide to use words instead of violence…for now. "That doesn't exactly answer the question."

"You asked why I liked her so much," he states.

"Yeah, and you said, 'there's just something about her'." I take a stab at his recent proverb, mockingly so. "That's not an acceptable answer. If I were to ask a man why he likes me so much, I'd hope he'd have something better to say."

He lets out a long, frustrated sigh as he turns toward me. "Why are you doing this, Katniss?" For the first time, he's looking at me—really looking at me. His gaze is penetrating, so solid and powerful, I have to look away. He goes back to fiddling with 'dinner' when I don't meet his stare. I watch him until I find the courage to speak up.

"She doesn't—" I pause, nervous and uncertain of what I'm trying to say. "You—she—she's just not right for you."

He turns around again. "And why do you think that?"

Ok. Time to find something to throw at him. "I just do."

"You just do?" Gale laughs. "That's an award winning answer."

"You're one to talk," I tell him.

"Face it, Catnip," Gale relaxes in his chair. "You're jealous."

Jealous?! I roll my fingers into my palm and press down hard, almost drawing blood. "Hah! Jealous?" I snicker as I stand up. "Don't flatter yourself. You're no Prince Charming."

He's stands too. "And you're no Princess."

"Good! I hate princesses." I'm two inches away from him now, so close our chests brush every time we take in or let out a breath.

"Let's be real here." He takes a hold of my shoulders and drives me back a few paces. "You're in love with me, and you can't stand the thought that I'm with someone else."

"You're mistaken," I answer calmly, which is a surprise, considering I'm five seconds away from a complete mental breakdown brought on by his egotistic assuredness. "Well, let me make it clear to you, _Gale Hawthorne_, I would rather be thrown back into the War than to be your pathetic girlfriend."

"Then why did you, not even five minutes ago, tell me you love me?" He shakes his head at me when I don't respond. "You're unbelievable."

I'm quite for a long time after that, mostly because I have no idea what to say. But eventually I come up with something fitting. "I'm so tired of doing this with you, Gale."

"That makes two of us."

I blow out a long, desperate breath. "I'm going back home tonight."

"What?" he asks rather crossly.

"I can't stay here anymore," I tell him. "Do you know how hard it is to be here? To see everyone celebrate a triumph that still feels like a loss to me? To see you happy with someone else? And to think that you might be having a kid with her….I can't do this."

I'm crying now. And I hate myself for it.

"Hey," Gale tries to reach for me, but I dodge him.

"Don't touch me, Gale," I plea.

"Do you think this is easy for me?" he says. "I don't like this anymore than you do. If I had a choice, I'd leave with you, and we'd be together in District 12, the way I always imagined we'd be. But I can't. I have a duty to this District, to all the districts, to Panem; I swore an oath to protect this nation, and that's what I'm going to do so I don't have to ever see you, or anybody else I love, starve to death or die in the Hunger Games. And Rose?" Gale laughs, as if he's just told me a funny joke. "I'm settling, Katniss. Because I can't have you. Because _you_ chose Peta over me. I moved on because _you_ made your choice. Now I'm with someone and _you_ show up, confessing your love, and_ you_ expect me to just drop everything?" Gale has tears in his eyes. But they disappear almost as quickly as they came. "No. I won't. You're so damn selfish, you know that?"

He's right. I am selfish. His revelation has cut me to the point of physical pain. I'm so hurt and muddled and shocked by his admission that I can no longer stand up. I walk over to Johanna's couch, sink into the cushion, and bring my knees up to my chest. I rest my head on my lap and weep silently. This is me letting go completely, and it's no surprise; it was only a matter of time before I broke down entirely.

I don't know how long I sit there crying, but at the end of it all, when there are no more tears to cry, I look up to see Gale. He's holding me, caressing my hair, and whispering he's sorry. I let him comfort me, selfish again, since I know he needs someone to hold him just as much as I do.

"I'm sorry," I finally say. "For being so selfish."

He just shakes his head and shushes me. "I shouldn't have said any of that."

"Yes, you should have," I tell him. "I needed to hear it."

"You need to hear a lot of things," he jokes, and then he takes my chin in his hand and lifts my head up, willing me to look at him. Puffy eyed and all. "I do love you, Katniss. I've always loved you."

I bite my lip to stop any more tears from coming. Because I'm so tired of being weak. "I know." When I feel him drawback, I immediately rephrase my statement. "I love you too, I mean."

He accepts it with a nod and falls back into the couch. I rest my back against his chest, and he wraps his arms around me. It's the first time he's ever held me so close. Peeta, he's held me like this before, but the feeling our closeness gave me doesn't compare to this. That's when I know for sure. I am one hundred percent, truly, madly, deeply in love with Gale Hawthorne, and I won't settle for anyone else. He will be mine.


	16. Chapter 16

Thank you for your continued patients with me. I know I don't update as often as I did in the beginning, but I've recently had the internet reconnected at my house so my intentions are to update more. Honestly, I'm coming to a close with this one. There will probably be about four or five more updates. I hope you enjoy this next part. In case you haven't noticed, I'm somewhat of angsty writer, and this next installment is no exception. There will be light at the end of the tunnel, of course, so don't get too distressed. Your reviews are really important and very much appreciated! So lay it on me ;) Also, the beginning of this chapter will be in Gale's POV. It will switch back to Katniss's in the middle. Enjoy!

Chapter 16

Gale Hawthorne wakes up before dawn. This isn't unusual. He's been up before the rooster's crow since twelve-years-old. The best kind of game is out then, and though he technically doesn't have to hunt to survive anymore, old habits die hard. The same could be said for a lot of things. Like his feelings for Katniss. For a long time he clung to the possibility that they still had a chance to have a future together. But after a year without seeing or speaking to her, he knew that was nothing more than a foolish fantasy. Rose was like a breath of fresh air to him. He jumped at the opportunity to be with her. Not only could he forget about Katniss but find happiness at the same time. Sure enough, as soon as the Victor showed her face again, it was like he was back at square one.

He knew his deep love for the District 12 soldier was pathetic. More importantly, morally wrong since he was 'committed' to Rose now. But obligated or not, there are just some things you can't control, and Gale's love for Katniss was one of those uncontrollable things. He can't help but love the damn girl. Turning her down last night was the hardest thing he'd ever done—especially since his desire for her has been festering for much longer than he cares to admit. Rejecting her offer not only hurt him emotionally, but physically too.

"Well, good morning."

He doesn't jump at Rose's unexpected appearance, though it startles him a good bit. She's standing in the doorway, looking beautiful as always and wide-awake.

Gale drags himself from the bed. "You're up early," he tells her before going into the bathroom to do his business and brush his teeth.

"I haven't been to sleep," she says as she ventures over to his bed and sits.

"Why not?" he calls out.

"Oh, I don't know." She shrugs nonchalantly. "Maybe because my boyfriend was out all night with another girl."

"I already told you, Rose," Gale starts, "I'm going to be spending time with her while she's here."

"Time doing what?" she asks, her voice implying something ill.

He appears in the doorway, wiping his recently washed hands on his pajama pants while looking quite perturbed. "How many times are we going to have this conversation?"

"Until I get an honest answer," Rose says. She walks over to Gale and points a finger in his face, and then says, "I know you're lying to me. I can tell. You haven't looked at me, talked to me, or touched me the same since _she _showed up."

"You're being delusional." Gale pushes past her and goes to his closet. He swindles through the hangers and picks out a plan, gray shirt. He pulls it over his head and then goes over to his bureau for a pair of dark blue trousers.

"No, you're being a liar," she argues. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

Gale stops clothing himself long enough to catch a glimpse of fire in her eyes. It reminds him of why he fell for her in the first place. She was as fiery as her red hair and he liked it. However, he knew someone else who possessed that same fire, if not more of it. And truth be told, he wanted that someone a lot more.

"I don't think you're an idiot."

"Then why are you treating me like one?" she questions.

"Look, Rose. I know you're not stupid." Gale takes a deep breath and continues. "I don't want to hurt you, but if you want the truth, I won't deny it anymore. I am in—"

"Wait," Rose cuts him off. "Before you go any further, you should know."

Somehow he knows what she's about to say and it makes him sick.

"I went to the doctor yesterday," Rose says. "I am pregnant."

The forest is peaceful at Dawn. I take pleasure in the quiet as I venture deeper and deeper into the rocky woodlands. Aside from the occasional rustle of leaves, there are no sounds or movements. But there is a slight breeze, so I'm grateful for my father's jacket.

I find a tree with thick branches and shimmy up with ease. Once I'm settled, I relax against the solid oak and wait for the game to come. As I wait, recollections from the night before come rushing back, and contrary to my usual response, I accept the memories with genuine hope. So what if Rose is in the way right now? Today is a new day; the possibilities are endless; anything can happen. Why ruin my new found attitude with depressing descriptions of yesterday—a past twinkling that can neither be changed nor relived? I'm enjoying my newly vamped outlook when I see something move in the distance. Like its second nature, I tug my bow back and discharge an arrow—straight into the eyeball of a now dead rabbit. I stay in the tree for a few more kills and then dash down, eager to capture my prey and move on to the next hotspot. I'm grabbing up the last of the game when I see something that turns my stomach numb. One of the rabbits I thought I killed didn't fall prey to my arrow; it was captured by a snare. Gail's snare. There's no mistaken it. I detach the meat from its killer and hold it up for a good look, as if I'd never seen a dead animal before.

"You know stealing is punishable by death?"

I don't jump. I was expecting him, after all. His timing is impeccable, as usual. "Is that what they're telling you in the army nowadays?"

Gale approaches me, a slight grin on his face. "Sorry I'm late."

I shrug. "Don't worry about it."

"I see you've been out for a while." He eyeballs my half-full rucksack.

"Only an hour," I tell him, and then I hand him the rabbit and he tucks it away in his own hunting sack. We stand in silence after that.

It doesn't take long to realize something is off. Gale's face is a dead give-away, not only is he not grinning cockily, he's wearing a face I've never seen before. "Is everything alright?" I ask him.

He simply nods and walks off. I follow behind, curious and blindsided by the sudden change in atmosphere. We hunt together for a while, and despite the fact something's obviously wrong, we do it in complete harmony. Covertly, though, I'm struggling with an inner conflict. Do I force him to tell me what's troubling him? Or do I leave it alone like I normally would and let him be at odds with himself until he figures it out on his own?

The sun has risen when I finally break. "Are you sure everything is okay?" I whisper to him.

We're camped against a large evergreen. Gale is crotched down. I stand behind him, my back against the hard tree. There's a clearing ahead where we've been watching for deer.

"Everything is fine," he assures me. But the hesitant beat of his voice confirms what I already know.

"You're lying," I tell him. "Come on, spit it out."

Gale sighs and stands up. "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm just tired."

I give him a pointed look. "You're tired?"

"Yes," he nods. "Tired."

"That's bullshit." I can't help but laugh. "You've gone days without sleep and have never been 'tired'. Besides, even at your worst, you always manage to be somewhat witty."

"Rose is pregnant." He comes straight out with it. No warning. No sugar coating. And damn does it hurt. "For sure. She went to the doctor yesterday and he confirmed it."

'At lost for words' has got an entirely new meaning. I have _absolutely _no idea what to say. I have turned into one great big, human-sized, motionless stone. That's what my outer exterior would appear to be, at least. On the inside? On the inside I'm driven mad by multiple feelings—anger, hurt, disbelief, jealously, disgust, bitterness. It's all a massive jumble of confusion, and I don't have the will or strength to sort it out.

Gale's looking at me with hurts eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispers. And then he hangs his head low and waits for some kind of response. But I can't give him one. Not now.

We stand there by the evergreen until the sun is blazing hot in the sky. Neither of us has moved. My mind is racing still, only now I try to put my thoughts and feelings in order.

My first thought is more of a question: how could this be?

I was so sure everything was going to work out. But I should have known better. I should have never come here. That's the bottom line. I should have never let myself love Gale. I should have never admitted it. I should have just kept it buried deep inside until it disappeared all-together. Now, now I have to fight-off more pain, more suffering, and more demons that endlessly follow and torment me.

My life is one big joke. I'm sure of this. Just like I was sure that was Gale's snare earlier. The thing about jokes? They're supposed to be funny. So why am I not laughing. It takes me awhile to gather myself, but when I finally do, all I can say is, "I'm going back home."


	17. Chapter 17

I know it's been too long and I am terribly sorry for that! Life has been demanding. I did not want to leave this story unfinished though so I'm back with another chapter. There is one—maybe two—left. I hope you enjoy and I am sorry for the wait.

Chapter 17

Sleep is a trying task tonight. Thoughts of Gale and Rose linger in my mind, keeping me awake and miserable. Haymitch is snoring loudly, his drool forming a wet puddle on the carpet where he passed out. I look for a clock, curious of the hour, but then I remember whose house I'm in. _Johanna wouldn't have a clock any more than I'd have a rose garden_. Without grant, my mind goes to Gale who sits greedily in the forefront of my mind as if he owns it.

Earlier, when I told Johanna I was leaving for District 12, she looked at me with knowing eyes and said, _"He finally got to you, did he?" _Yes, he finally did….though that's not what I told her.

I wanted to tell her how pathetic I felt for being so weak over Gale and that, ironically, I would miss her when I left. But it sounded silly inside my head, and neither of us was big on displays of affection. Yet, I would truly miss her.

District 12 felt lonely already. _Peeta will be there._ The thought of the baker's boy makes me light-headed; it's the first time I've thought of him all week. I feel guilty all of a sudden. Here I am in District 2, completely fixated on Gale, while Peeta is hundreds of miles away waiting for me. Peeta.

_Gale. _I never wanted to think about him again. Only, that wasn't true at all. I was thinking of him now. I try to snap myself out of it. This isn't me. I'm a Victor, a rebel and a warrior. I'm not some helpless overemotional girl, but that didn't make my feelings for him go away. They were still there provoking me and making me sick to my stomach.

T_here is no future for us. _I try to remind myself. These days it's not uncommon for a man and a woman to have a child out of wedlock; it wasn't uncommon when a man left his family either. But Gale wasn't that kind of man, and I didn't want him to be. As much as I hate it, Gale belonged to Rose now. Hell, maybe he belonged to her this entire time; we just didn't know it yet. Fate. That's what you call it. I hate fate and everything it stands for. Fate took my father and my sister. It took Rue and Cinna and so many other innocent people. Fate is a monster, a parasite set out to trick you with falsehoods of what you think your life is going to be, and then it strikes…. and you're left alone to figure out how the hell to move on from the mess it created. I was a perfect example of what fate could do to somebody.

Hours pass and I'm still tossing and turning on the couch, begging myself to stop thinking and shut down. The frustration of it all makes me cry until I have nothing left. My mouth is dry and my tongue feels like a dead-weight between my reddened cheeks. The scar on my wrist has been burning without sympathy for over an hour now.

Even though every fiber in my body wants rest, my mind won't let it happen, and I climb out of bed and begin to marvel through the kitchen. A glass of water and a sleeping pill…that's what I need. I settle for just a glass of water. I make myself at home, searching through the cabinets for a cup. I find it and fill it up at the sink. The water isn't cold, and it has a weighty metallic taste, but I gulp it down anyway, quenched. There's a low-sung rumble in my belly, a discreet notification that sends me straight to the fridge. I rummage around for some meat and cheese and maybe some dressing if it appeases.

Carved turkey, sharp cheddar cheese, and a few slices of bread later, I'm satisfied and maybe even ready to sleep. I put everything back in the fridge and shut the door hard, causing a pile of junk to fall off the top. I sigh heavily before bending over to pick up the mess of papers. As I'm gathering the muddle of rubbish, a document catches my eye. At a glance, the top reads 'Computer Intelligence Training Schedule'….the rest is a calendar, a three month agenda that gives dates and times to computer knowledge classes. My heart flutters, and I don't know why until I realize what I'm holding. It was an agenda for an obligatory boot camp, a three month long training held in District 3, and Johanna wasn't the only one who had to attend. At the top, in small type, the program reads: Led by Captain Hawthorne.

My mind begins to race. The dates on the pamphlet are recent, just before the festival. Unless Gale took Rose with him to District 3 for three months, she couldn't be pregnant. Additional, was the vile feeling that Rose gave her. Deceit radiated from her silky smooth skin, and she was just the type to lie about something like this to keep Gale, her and that evil colored blood-red hair. I nibble on my bottom lip, contemplating. Johanna would know if Gale took her with him, but she hadn't returned home from the festival yet. I go back to the couch with the agenda in my hand, examining it as if it were a treasure map. I have to know. I have to know now.

Fireworks light up the sky. Loud and stirring music fill the district streets, making it almost impossible to think. Dressed in dull-colored pants, a plain V-neck, and my dad's leather jacket, I venture around the party, searching for Johanna. More often than not, strangers call my name while others come up to greet me. I'm as mannerly as I can be until I spot Johanna and excuse myself.

The former Victor, in all her dangerous glory, is dancing by herself on the dance floor. I call her name and wave her over when she spots me.

She swirls around a final time before coming over. "Are you here to ask me for a dance?" She points to a man with a bloody nose standing at nearby table. "Don't get too touchy-feely."

"I need to talk to you."

"So talk," she tells me and then twirls in an elegant circle, moving to the beat of the music.

I show her the agenda I found. "When did this training take place?"

She glances at it and continues to dance. "We just got back from it a week before the festival. Why?" She stops dancing. "Wait a second, are you going through my stuff?"

I ignore the last part. "Did Gale lead the team?"

"_Well yeah_, he's the captain," she says. "What's with all the weird questions?"

"Rose says that she's pregnant, but if Gale has been away at a three-month boot camp, I don't know how pregnant she really is. Did she come with him to the training?"

"No outside personnel allowed," she tells me.

My heart stops. "She's lying about being pregnant."

"If Gale's been away for three months, wouldn't he know that?" Johanna asks with interest.

"I don't think Gale is very knowledgeable when it comes to the dynamics of pregnancy."

"Well, if she is lying, how do we prove it?"

"I've got a plan," I tell her.

Johanna's lips twist into a mischievous grin. "Of course, you do."

Rose Thibodaux is a beauty and nothing more. Johanna had decided that a long time ago. When Mayor Thibodaux welcomed the new recruits to District 2, Rose was there to greet them too. She stood next to Daddy, tall and proud and beautiful with an air of superiority about her, greeting everybody with a smile and a handshake that left fingers tingling. Johanna recalled the way Gale tensed up when he saw her. Johanna herself had to fight the success of her beauty. In Panem, attractiveness like that was bestowed upon the worst kind of people, and she immediately knew Rose was no exception. As a result, Johanna took a fast and stout disliking to the Mayor's daughter. So when Katniss requested her assistance, it was more like a treat than a task.

To get close to someone is to get close to their loved ones and there was no one closer to Rose than her Father.

Mayor Thibodaux was not hard to find in a crowd, with ridiculous hair that reminded her of a bird's nest on fire and a belly as round as the Quarter Quell dome, she located him almost instantly. He stood at a nearby table passing out broaches that lit up like sparklers and projected 'Vote Thibodaux' into the midair. She felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, and it didn't take her long to realize why. Seeing those pins reminded her of the games, and how they used to light up the sky with the names of the innocent. Re-election was just weeks away, and the Mayor had not wasted any time backing his spot in the political pool. Johanna took a not-so-giant leap and suspected the Badoc festival was just another scheme to persuade voters, and sure enough, the people were eating it up like an ooey-gooey butter cake.

She slipped, unnoticed, into a cluster of his supporters, waiting for her opportunity. Luckily, it was late and the festival was dying down so she didn't have to wait long. Mayor Thibodaux, with exaggerated jolliness, excused himself after the cameras shut off and shuffled through the disappearing crowd. She followed him, at a distance, into the Capitol building where Rose was waiting for him.

Thanks to the virtuous military, she not only had the training she needed to be covert, but the gadgets too. Concealed behind a large pillar, she drew a directional from her tactical belt and waited for the Mayor and his daughter to do the rest of the work. The Mayor excused his companions while Rose and he walked down the capitol corridors. She followed them at a distance, remaining concealed behind large columns and posts. Their conversation was of little value, just mindless chatter about the festival and weather….at first.

"So did you give Gale the news?" the Mayor whispered to his daughter.

"Yes." Rose answered sourly.

"And?" he asked.

"And what?"

"Well, what did he say, child?" he questioned, impatient. The Major was getting annoyed with his beautiful daughter.

"He didn't say anything," she told him, rather annoyed herself. "He's been preoccupied with that sorry excuse for a girl, Katniss Everdeen."

"Oh, Rosie!" he riled. "Don't be such a damn drama queen….a trait you got from your mother, no doubt. Do realize how important this is to me?

"I'll stop being a damn drama queen when you stop injecting these massive amounts of hormones into my veins."

_Bingo. _Johanna couldn't be more thrilled with that piece of information. Not only would it help Katniss, but it would help bring down the Major, who was no better than President Snow and Alma Coin or any of those corrupt Capitol pricks.

"You have to play the part and play it right. There can be no mistakes. How many times do we have to go over this?" The Mayor slipped into his office with Rose rambling behind.

"I can play the part without the hormones."

"Do you realize that Gale Hawthorne practically holds my spot as major in his hands? He can persuade the entire army to vote for me."

"He can do that without the help of the little lie we've sprouted," Rose tried to elucidate.

"I'm not willing to risk it, especially now that the Mockingjay is around him. There's no better way to guarantee his loyalty than a pregnancy with my daughter."

"Thanks for spelling it out for me," Rose responded sarcastically. "What's going to happen when he finds out I'm not really pregnant?"

"You're working on that part, are you not?"

"He's been running around with Katass lately. I haven't had any real alone time with him."

"Well, you know what you have to do then," the Mayor said sternly. "Make it happen."

Johanna Mason took pride in her work. She was quick on her toes and that triggered great situational awareness, even in the trickiest circumstances. She had the Capitol and the Hunger Games to thank for those aptitudes. The insidious effect of suppression from the old Capitol resulted in her own type of guile and she would use it to uncover deception in the system ….starting with the exposure of the Mayor and his precious daughter.


End file.
